


All Who Wander

by MotherDark



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blood and Gore, Drug Use, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 11:23:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 119,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8204281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherDark/pseuds/MotherDark
Summary: Here is where you are born. Here is where you die. Here is where you are safe. But nothing in life is guaranteed. "Not all who wander are lost."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bare with me - the first couple chapters are going to be a little dry as I push through the set-in-stone plot line. Once she gets out of the vault, it becomes more about her experience than just another retelling of the game. Hope you enjoy =)

_ Shrk.  _ The metal door slid open and closed behind her with little more than a gust of air. A considerable luxury when nearly every other apartment door in the section had their own personal metallic grinding or shriek.

“Honey? Is that you?” His voice came from the only other room the tiny residence had to offer, which doubled as bedroom and office.

“Yeah.” She said with a sigh, her tall frame falling a fair distance into the withered couch across from the entrance. The old springs groaned beneath her weight, its age showing through the stains and discoloration that remained, despite the countless efforts made to restore it. How many generations of families it - or any other piece of furniture in the Vault - had lived through were anyones guess.

Her father entered, tall and broad-shouldered, whose once dark hair was now a silvery grey. She quickly rolled forward, her long red hair falling like a curtain to hide her oval face, and started undoing the laces of her boots. “You’re late. I was starting to get worried!” He said with a chuckle “Though I suppose it’s hard to get lost down he--” Leaning back into the couch cast her face back into the florescent light, along with the darkening bruise that covered her cheek and above. The pale green iris of her downturned eyes seemed to stand out amongst the darkening shade of her already tan skin.

“Oh, my dear.” His words were heavy with a pitiful disappointment. Dreading the lecture to come, she pushed herself up and moved into the other room. She had no purpose or intent other than avoiding his gaze, one always so full of total adoration, it made her sick to see them shine with worry and concern. 

It looked worse than it was, really. Despite being a pip-boy programmer, she had a fit build to match her height. The first few lost fights against Butch DeLoria were enough to motivate her to fill some of her excess spare time with a workout routine. Just enough to keep herself able to take a punch, and to give one back. Butch hadn't walked away unscathed, after all. 

“It was that DeLoria boy again, wasn’t it?” He stayed outside the room, and she used the opportunity to change out of her work jumper into something more casual. 

Taking off her Pip-boy was the best part of her day. She let it drop onto her dresser with a loud  _ CLANK _ , and from the top drawer pulled a jumper that was almost identical to the one she wore now, missing only the ‘PROGRAMMER’ text printed in large yellow letters along the shoulders. The even larger 101, however, remained.

“Is it ever anyone else?” She said light-heartedly, using an attempt at humor to gauge the level of trouble she was in. 

A long sigh was her answer; a lot. “You’ve  _ got  _ to stop giving in to him!” His voice was still mellow, but severe.

“I know.”

“This kind of behavior is unacceptable, especially from you.”

“I know.”

“Butch is...a troubled boy, but I raised you to know better, to  _ be _ better than to sink to that level of--”

“I  _ know. _ ” She drawled, closing her dresser drawer harder than necessary. She could only listen to the same lesson so many times, and there were only so many times he could tell it before he would eventually realize that it was a lost cause. 

Changed and only slightly refreshed, she joined him back in the front room. With his brow still furrowed with paternal concern, she avoided eye contact to idly browse the half-stocked bookshelf. He raised a hand to brush the small scratch on her cheek, but she pulled away. “You’re going to be eighteen in a handful of months. This kind of behavior isn’t appropriate for  _ children _ , much less an adult.” She picked up a random book and flipped through the pages, waiting for it to be over. “You have to ignore him.” He said, her eyebrows twitching with annoyance. “Whatever he does or says to you, he’s just trying to get a reaction. And by giving him one, you enable him to--” She slammed the book closed. She had barely calmed down from the scuffle, and her temper quickly broke again. 

“It wasn’t me!” She said sharply. “He was going after Amata." Her father remained silent, perhaps with surprise. “All four of them were surrounding her, snickering and making.... _ suggestions _ .” She glanced at him, hoping she wouldn’t have to clarify her meaning. “And they wouldn’t back off. What was I supposed to do, just leave her there?” She turned to face him, fueled by her sense of vigilante justice. 

“Of course not.” He said, calm as ever. It seemed to wash over her like a gentle wave, calming her as well. “But violence is  _ never _ the answer. You could have gotten a security guard, or--” 

She rolled her eyes. “Who knows what they’d have done to her in the time it took me to find one who’s sober!” 

“OR,” he continued, not bothering to deny the truth of what she’d said. “Go directly to the Overseer. She’s his daughter, after all, I’m sure he’d--” 

She scoffed and rolled her eyes again. “Please. He’s so concerned with his  _ own _ reputation that he’d only scold HER for...being in the wrong place or something. He’s  _ never _ done  _ anything  _ about Butch, OR that stupid 'gang' of his. No one does! There’s only ONE way to make him listen.” 

Her ever patient, ever kind, ever loving father, gently wrapped his hand around hers. 

“Butch has grown up without a father, and with a mother who’s more concerned with her liquor stores than if he has clothes that fit properly. The security guards look down on him, his teacher dismisses him, and any other adult around doesn’t pay enough attention to care one way or another. His friends mimic his behavior, and so he acts in the ways he thinks he must to be accepted by the only people who have ever paid any actual attention to him. Perhaps, my dear, what he needs is for someone to listen to  _ him. _ ”

Her mouth opened to retort, but the only sound it made was a defeated silence. She lowered her gaze in embarrassment, and he kissed her atop her head in truce. “It’s late. We ought to get to bed before the security guards take us in for breaking curfew.” He said, finally offering a chuckle to let her know the trouble was over. She returned a light, half-hearted smirk, and made ready for bed. 

Though she lay beneath the regulation sheets for ongoing hours, she did not rest. Her mind was consumed with her father’s words, which cast Butch in a light she’d never dared to even imagine him under. Since they were children, he’d always been a troublemaker. She couldn’t even remember a time when he wasn’t surrounded by his gang of goons. Though in truth, she knew not all of them were so bad. Freddie Gomez, for instance, had a good heart but dim wit, and was only with the Tunnel Snakes out of desire of inclusion. He enjoyed the companionship and approval, though his discomfort at what he had to do to gain it was clear to more than just her fathers eyes. 

Even Butch himself was, at worst, moderately annoying. He jeered and chided, but always seemed to know where the line was, and when not to cross it. Wally Mack was the one who made even the security guards a bit twitchy. Despite Butch’s loud mouth and cock-sure attitude, Blake got the feeling that he was only the leader because Wally passively allowed it to be so. 

And then there was Paul Hannon.

If ever there had been anyone to fit the phrase “tall, dark and handsome”, it would be him. His african blood had sculpted a square jaw and full lips, with a curved nose and slanted forehead that gave him a divine regality. But his handsome features were not what initially drew her to him. 

It was hard to say when it really started. It could have been during her first month as a pip-boy programmer, when he had come for Stanley’s assistance but found she was the only one on duty. It could have been during her tenth birthday party, when he had apologized on behalf of his group and almost dared to pay her half a compliment. It could have been a few years later, during her thirteenth birthday where there was no party, but he’d stopped by the apartment- unbeknownst to the rest of the Tunnel Snakes--to give her a gift anyway. 

Somewhere amidst countless encounters of similar kinds, something grew. It was difficult to call it an affection--perhaps a warm neutrality, or passive acceptance. Whatever good he might’ve done was always out performed by the deeds of his louder, more abrasive companions. They maintained a mutually respected distance from each other, like magnets of the same charge, always an unseen force pushing them apart whenever they came to be too close. 

But only a small charge was needed to change push to pull. 

  
  


She sat behind Mr. Brotch’s desk, the man himself having excused himself for some reason she hadn’t bothered to listen to. Blake found it surreal to be on the other side of the desk for once--To look over the empty classroom, imagining each student in their place, the ones she knew and ones she made up. Minds ready for molding. She was so lost in the reverie that she didn’t notice Paul enter the classroom. Or perhaps she did, and had assumed he was Mr.Brotch. They were both taller than her, and dark in complexion. It wasn’t until his voice, which was clearly not her teachers, snapped her back to attention.

“Blake? What are you doing?”

“What? Oh, Paul? What do you want?”

He looked her over, curiously and maybe even a little suspiciously. She looked almost elegant, sitting straight up like a pre-war lady, but there was a strength in her shoulders. A woman raised by a man, but a woman still. A strange combination, one unique to her. It made her seem equally likely to either stroke his hair or knock his lights out. He fought to ignore how much he liked that about her.

“I’m fixing Mr.Brotch’s computer.” She finally answered.

“Oh.” He continued to study her. And she was smart. Wicked smart. He tried to ignore that, too. “What’s wrong with it?”

That was a complicated answer. “It...keeps giving an error.”

“Oh.” Silence. “Where is he?”

“Uh. Getting a drink, I think.”

“When will he be back?”

“I..a few minutes, maybe?” They stared at each other, like two wild animals uncertain of the others motives. Finally, she noticed a bunch of papers in his hand, the front of which having what appeared to be a large red “C”. Before she could confirm, he flipped them over so she could only see the backs. 

“I’ll just come back later.” He said, hurrying to exit the classroom. It was bad enough she had to see him so frequently with his group of goons. He didn't want her thinking he was cruel  _ and _ stupid.

“Wait!” She called out before she even knew why. He paused and turned expectantly. “Err, I...” She fumbled. Why did she call him back? She had work to do. “Is that last weeks exam?” He clutched the papers more tightly, which only confirmed her suspicion. She stood up slightly, putting a hand out. “I got an A. That is, I’m not trying to--I mean, I can...take a look?” 

And it was in that moment, a moment like a coin on its end, a boat with no oar at a fork in the current, that she realized she wanted him to stay. For any reason she could come up with, any excuse she could make, she simply wanted him to be there, and continue exploring the depths of who he was. Whatever happened next would define their relationship and the way they interacted for the rest of their lives, and they both knew it. It seemed an hour long as she waited for him to decide, and it seemed even longer to him as he struggled to do so. 

Finally, after an eon, he closed the distance and handed the paper over. Not a monumental gesture, not one that would produce sonnets or have been featured in old, pre-war vids, but one that held the same importance to her. 

She looked it over, nodding and humming to herself as she inwardly highlighted his mistakes.One of the things she liked about Paul--she realized it was a growing list-- was his intelligence. Despite his consistently good grades, few others seemed to appreciate it, if even be aware of it at all. Given his reputation and general company, the idea that he was simply cheating was a commonly accepted answer.

The Generalized Occupational Aptitude Test had proven them all wrong, however, when he was placed on the Engineer career track. And again, all the sniggering and snide remarks had come to a halt when he flourished in the field.

With him standing on the other side of the desk, stiff and awkward, she really did feel like a teacher. “Ah..mm, okay. I see what the problem is.” she pointed to the paper, preparing to turn it round so he could see properly from his spot, across from her. Her thoughts momentarily vanished when he moved to stand beside her instead. 

The last time her mind had gone similarly blank, she had accidentally shocked herself when her screwdriver had brushed a live wire inside a pip-boy. She was so... _ aware _ of him. How soft his skin looked, how warm he felt beside her, how he smelled. "Ah," she faltered, fighting to get her bearings. “W-well, your hypothesis is actually correct, and most of the process as well. But right here-- ”

She was disrupted again when he kneeled down beside her, to get a better view of the paper of course. It certainly wasn't to move his hand slightly closer to hers. It absolutely wasn't to get a better look at her feminine, but strong face. It was definitely not to be closer to her, to hear her voice ever clearer, or catch a sparing whiff of her crimson locks. 

And she had only adjusted her position to better show him the paper. Not to shift herself closer to him. “You introduce a couple other variables that are unaccounted for later on. Without taking those into consideration, the rest of the process is skewed which..” she flipped to the next page. “Yep, gave you a different result.” She looked at him with a soft smile, surprised at her disappointment when he was looking at the paper instead of her.

“Damn. I didn’t even see that.” He took the papers back, turning to the first page and looking over the start of his mistakes. “I should’ve caught that. I’m no good at this stuff, that G.O.A.T should’ve put me in Maintenance.” 

“Don’t say that.” She said a little angrily, catching his attention. “You’re a lot harder on yourself than you should be. You kick  _ ass  _ at your job and  _ no one  _ can deny that, even if they wanted to.” Perhaps embarrassed or disbelieving, his gaze fell back onto the glaring red C.

“You’re  _ not _ stupid, Paul.” His brow furrowed. “You’re not. I know you think you are, and it probably doesn’t help to be hanging around those knuckle draggers who barely make up a whole brain altogether. ” The corner of his mouth twitched. He knew she was right. “I know how smart you are.” His eyes flitted up briefly. “Even if no one else does, or they just refuse to see it cause of your reputation, but--” Their eyes met again. “I know.”

She fought the urge to look away, although she felt her heart might actually come out her throat if she didn’t. But he didn’t look away this time, either. She thought for a moment that the room was spinning, but, no, it was only the space closing between them, just before her eyes closed and their lips met. 

Elation? Bliss? Euphoria? None of these words seemed to fit the lightness in her chest, the calm quiet of her mind, or the almost sickening butterflies in her stomach. His lips were softer than she expected. Had his hand always been on hers? When had she put hers on his knee? Were those...voices?

They broke apart--he must have heard them, too. Mr.Brotch, saying a passing greeting to one of the guards. In a flash, Paul had his papers and was already halfway across the classroom when the teacher entered. 

“Oh! Paul, what a...surprising...surprise. Something I can--?” He didn’t get the question out of his mouth before Paul had rounded the corner and disappeared. The older man looked at Blake with confusion, but she had no explanation to offer other than a slack jaw. 

“Ooookay.” He coughed. “Well! How’s the computer coming along?” 

“I, uh...” She attempted to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’ll...need to work on it again tomorrow. Sorry, I’m--I just--” she stammered, verbally tripping over herself as she sloppily gathered up her notes and rushed out of the room. 

She kept her gaze forward and down, staring at the few feet of floor in front of her and walked with a furious pace back to her apartment. A journey on any other day that would only be a few minutes, but with how rapidly her heart was pounding, how fast her head was spinning, how hard her stomach was turning, it felt more like an hour until she finally crossed the metal threshold. Relieved that her father was out--most likely still at the clinic--she hid herself in the darkness of the bedroom, and further plunged herself into solitude by curling up beneath the thin, regulation covers of her bed.

 

The next day had passed as slowly as a storm cloud on the horizon. She dreaded leaving the safety of her private space, daring to face him when she herself had no idea what she was feeling. She was not expecting, therefore, the horrible dredge of dismay when he hadn’t even spared her a glance the whole day. She  _ had _ expected, at the very least, an attempt to forget, or to pretend, that nothing had happened whatsoever--to go on their daily routine of snide remarks and sidelong glances as they always had done before. But to be treated as though she’d ceased to exist, in fact to be treated in no particular way at all? This, as well as the twisting knot that swelled in her chest because of it, she did not expect either. 

The next day was no more merciful. At least twice, daring to look his way either out of desperation or forgetfulness, she could have sworn she caught the last second of his averting gaze. And each time, she dismissed it as wishful thinking. The following day, he'd apologized briefly when they'd bumped into one another going in and out of the classroom. There was a split, lingering second where they looked at one another, each one faltering as they tried to find simple words. None came, the second passed, and he moved to continue past her. 

She wanted to turn with him, to grab him by the arm and spin him round to face her again, to shout at him or shake him until he gave her something,  _ anything  _ to settle her mind or heart, but...wait. She  _ had _ grabbed him, by the crook of the elbow. And he had spun around, and now he was looking at her, his ebony eyes surprised, expectant, and perhaps even a little afraid.

She flushed, pressing her lips together. Having acted on impulse, there wasn’t a trace of a thought put into what would happen next, much less what she could possibly say. 

"I...just...wh-..." he looked away, hearing voices approach, but she held firm onto his sleeve. "Paul, please! This isn't fair, you won't even  _ look  _ at me anymore! What--" He cut her off, putting his hand on hers with a look of utter desperation as the voices--which they both now recognized as the rest of the Tunnel Snakes--drew louder.

"Blake..." he muttered pleadingly. "We'll talk. I promise.  _ Later _ ." He said, glancing over his shoulder like a hunted animal. She stared determinedly into his petrified face and, sighing, released him. He scampered further away from his supposed comrades, leaving Blake to hover in the doorway, somehow rooted to the spot with a flurry of embarrassment and frustration. 

Butch’s bouncing, chugging laughter rounded the corner with the rest of him, Freddie and Wally in tow, coming to a sudden halt upon seeing Blake in their path.   
“Well well well, look who’t is, boys!” he drawled, forcing the old greaser accent he’d perfected through late nights with pre-war vids. “Little Red.” He chided his less-than-affectionate nickname for her.

“Fuck off, Butch.” She said shortly. On a good day, she’d outmatch his wit like a cougar with a mouse, starting off with simple, short remarks and working her way up to full fledged insults. On a poorer day, this might only go on for a minute or so before one of them through the first punch, but today--today, Blake had no patience for either circumstance.

“Woah-ho!” He flared up, straightening his back as though it were a cue for their tango to begin. “I’m not sure I’m likin’ that attitude, Little Red.” She rolled her eyes, pushing up from the wall and doing her best to walk away rather than goad him on. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to--” the moment she felt the pressure of his hand on her arm, she knocked it away before she’d completed her turn back to him. 

“NOT today.” Her voice was heavy with finality, and her eyes held a sharpness to them that Butch had seen only rarely, but enough times to understand.

He rolled his shoulders, repositioning his jacket and said “I ain’t got time f’this anyway.” Behind him, Wally’s expression grew more irritated, but he said nothing. “We was lookin’ for Paul, not some skeevin’ sewer rat.” He said snidely, Freddie chuckling behind him but Wally maintaining his unimpressed air. Blake felt her hand curl into a fist, and fought to remember what her father had said. 

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and said in a forced calm, “He just went through, that way, probably looking for you--” she caught the insult in her throat and swallowed it. “Guys.” A little bewildered and almost disappointed, Butch gestured for his boys to follow as he passed by Blake. Freddie followed his cue, but Wally hesitated, staring her down in silence.

Her lungs tightened in anticipation. Anyone in the Vault would be all too quick to identify Butch as the leader of the Tunnel Snakes--even Blake only ever brawled with him. But Wally...there was a disturbing air around him. He was like a boogeyman, always in the peripheral, just out of your vision but enough of a presence to raise the hairs on the back of your neck. The real wolf, hiding in the woods and watching his prey--one you knew was there, but chose to ignore for the sake of your own sanity.

Her mind and heart were racing, trying to read any movement he made, predict any possible outcomes. When he finally moved, she had worked herself into such a state she nearly leapt at him. It took a split second for her to realize that he wasn’t moving  _ towards  _ her, but around her. For some unfathomable reason, he’d dismissed the fight and chose to keep up with Butch and Freddie instead. She kept her eyes on him as he passed, not daring to give him the slightest opportunity. Once he was shoulder-to-shoulder with her, he flashed her a glare so full of loathing and contempt that she almost attacked again, feeling an overwhelming primal defensiveness against the wild predator she recognized him to be. Steeling herself, she only allowed herself to move once he had turned the same corner as his companions, and was out of sight. 

  
  


She found any excuse to be anywhere but home. She loitered in the cafeteria, wandered aimlessly through the halls, and even bothered to watch the Vault Little League practice in the atrium. Impatient, angry and irritated, she eventually found her way to her father’s clinic.

Up front, Jonas, her father’s partner in and out of the lab, looked busy with some paperwork. She meant not to disturb him, but upon seeing her approach, he flashed a bright smile and lowered his clipboard. “Hey, sport! Been awhile since we’ve had a visit from you.” He said endearingly, hugging her in greeting.

“Yeah, sorry. Been, y’know, busy..” she lamely excused, but he only chuckled.

“Hey, I hear ya. No rest for the wicked, right?” He winked at her, and she smiled.

She could only remember so much of her childhood that Jonas hadn’t been a part of. Just up until her ninth birthday, maybe a little before, it had been just she and her father. But as the years went on, Jonas became more and more prominent in her life. A marriage would have been all that was needed to move them to a larger family apartment, but for some reason it never came to pass. From the way James would talk about Blake’s late mother and look at old pictures, she had her suspicions as to why that was.

“Here to see the old man?” He asked, turning to lead her through to the office.

She only shrugged in response. “Just, killing time, really. Came to see what you guys were up to.” She made to follow Jonas, but before they could make it to the door, her father stepped through, half-hidden behind a clipboard of his own.

“Jonas, I’m looking over these results you got from our last--”

“James!” Jonas cut him off, a little too quickly. Were Blake in a calmer state of mind, it might have made her curious. “Excellent timing, look who’s here!” He stepped aside to bring Blake into full view.

“Oh!” Her father finally broke his view from his data, leaning back into the office to toss the clipboard onto his desk and close the door. That, she did notice. “Hello, sweetie. Something I can help you with?” 

He outstretched his arm, shepherding them back into the main clinic area and away from whatever he didn’t want her to know. “No, just came to, y’know,” she shrugged. “Kill time.” He smiled at her, and Jonas spoke up next.

“Oh! That reminds me! I think I found  _ just  _ the thing to fix up your bb gun.” 

Finally, Blake lit up. “Really?”

Hidden amongst stained, worn out mattresses, broken bed frames and malfunctioning or otherwise broken equipment was the BB gun James and Jonas had presented to her on her tenth birthday.

"Turns out," Jonas began, "The trigger mechanism was just fine. It wasn't catching because the spring was worn out, and wasn't giving it the push we needed."

"So, what, we just need a new spring?" Blake asked, happy there was something new to focus her energies on.

"Exactly. And lucky for you, I've already got one." He indicated a dented silver tray on the table which, rather than the surgical equipment it would have held in its better days, was a single, tiny spring. 

"Lucky that Butch 'misplaced' his switchblade, anyway." James said with a chuckle, and wordlessly returned to his office while she and Jonas dismantled the gun.

 

"There." Jonas said with a finality, holding the reassembled BB rifle. "That ought to do it!" He handed it to Blake, who felt no immediate difference. She lifted the rifle, peering down the sights at a blank wall. "Woah!" Jonas said, holding a hand out to cease her. "Best not do that here. Lot'a things could go wrong, most of all the Overseer finding out." He glanced to James' closed office door, a fleeting motion that further riled Blake’s curiosity.

Slinging the strap across her shoulder, she headed for the door. "Tell Dad I'm gonna go shoot. I'll head back to the apartment once I'm done." It was a great assumption that he would make it home before she would, but she thought it best to leave the message anyway, for whatever it might be worth.

 

Down in the Reactor levels, Blake made her way to her pseudo shooting range. Chipped paint targets were attached to swiveling poles at varying distances, set up by her father years ago and improved upon as was needed. As it always offered her some relief from her daily anxieties--whether they be social, familial, scholarly, or even borne of 'Vault Depressive Syndrome'-- she found herself here rather frequently. 

Taking aim, Blake let the first pellet fly, smacking the first target with a spark on the second outermost ring. She clicked her tongue with annoyance, aimed more carefully, and this time hit the ring just beyond the center. With a huff of personal satisfaction, she set her sights on the second target, a few meters behind and to the right of the first.

It only took a few warm up shots before each pull of the trigger resulted in a spark of metal-on-metal right in the bullseye. It was an easy thing for her to do these days. Given the frequency of her visits to her shooting range, it was surprising at all that she would get anything but bullseyes. An occasional radroach-a mutated cockroach roughly the size of a skateboard- would offer her the thrill of a moving target, but it was the best that could be done under the circumstances. 

Each pull of the trigger--or perhaps it was the sharp clatter of the pellets hitting their mark--felt like the undoing of one of a series of knots in her mind. As each one pulled free, she felt more and more relaxed, more calmed, more in control. 

Eventually, she turned to a table set up along side the room and set her rifle down, looking over the ever dwindling amount of bb pellets she had and debated whether or not she still felt the need to burn through a few more.

“Blake?”

A voice came from behind, starling her so badly that she knocked the table, some of the bb’s bouncing out of their container and rattling onto the floor. A panic immediately overcame her. Whoever was here, if it was someone that would report back to the Overseer what they had seen...but no. Before she’d even finished the thought, she knew the voice. 

Turning slowly around, she saw that it was indeed Paul Hannon Jr. that waited in the doorway, who had called her name so softly and sweetly that she hadn’t immediately recognized who the voice had belonged to. 

“P-Paul.” She stammered in honest surprise, and a thinly veiled attempt to buy herself time. She hadn’t expected  _ anyone  _ to join her down here, much less the young man who’d made his best efforts to avoid her as of late. She was grateful, therefore, when he did not advance into the room but stayed in his spot in the doorway. 

“H..how did you...” She stepped to the side, hoping to block the rifle from view. He smiled gently, but it was gone in an instant. 

“Your dad told me.” She furrowed her brow, feeling completely betrayed by her own blood. “I figured...I mean, I thought...I said we’d talk, so..uh...” He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. 

“So what the hell, then?” She said suddenly, anger bursting from her voice like a flame. He looked surprised, and then indignant. 

“What the hell, what?” His temper quick to match hers.

She squared her shoulders in annoyance. “What the hell  _ else _ ? You’re just gonna--” she faltered, blushing at the memory of the kiss, but pushed through back to her anger. “And then just...completely  _ ignore _ me? Like I don’t even exist?” 

He turned away again, a slight red coming into his own cheeks. “I wasn’t ignoring you..” he defended poorly. 

“Oh, no?” She took a step forward without realizing it. “What do YOU call it, then, when you won’t look at me, or speak to me, or even acknowledge my presence? What do you call that, Paul?” He could not look her way, or muster even another syllable. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Look, if....if that was just...a random mistake and...didn’t mean anything, then--” 

“It didn’t--” He interrupted, surprising the both of them. “It...wasn’t meaningless.” His eyes softened with a sorrow she hadn’t expected. “Was it?” He asked her with a crackle of fear.

“...No.” She responded, bringing her hands together to squeeze and fiddle with her own fingers. It was then she noticed Paul’s arm, crossed over his chest and clutching the other as if in pain. 

“So...what does that make us, then?” She asked more gently.

“I..don’t know.”

“Why did you ignore me?”

“I...guess I’m just...kind of...nervous. I guess.”

“Like I’m not? First you just walk out right after it happened, then you don’t even  _ look  _ at me for the next two days, I mean..what am I supposed to make of that? Jesus, Paul, I’m still a girl for fucks sake.” He smirked and glanced at her like she’d made a joke.

She deflated slightly, embarrassed and a little miffed that he didn’t seem to be taking her seriously. “So where does that leave us, then? Are we, like...dating?” 

His smile faded and he looked away again. “I...don’t...”

Her stomach dropped so suddenly she thought she might be sick. Cutting him off before he could say anymore, she said “So we’ll just go back to the way things were.” and failed to mask the venom in her voice.

“No, I don’t want that, either.”

“So what?” She snapped, growing ever more confused and annoyed by the second. “So you just want me to wait around for whenever you’re feeling randy? So you can have some stand-by fuck buddy to--”

“No!” this time, he was the one to step forward, stunning her into silence. “It’s not like that. I...I  _ do _ like you, Blake...”

The words pulsed in her mind, filling her up with something like helium, making her feel light and dizzy. So much so that she almost missed the point of what he was saying. “But what?” She asked, sinking back down to Earth. “I...like you, too..” she offered, embarrassed to death, but hoping it might ease his discomfort. 

She was almost successful. He smiled at her and began to move forward, and she thought for a moment everything was resolved and they would move on from there. Yet he paused, and withdrew once more. 

“But it’s...it’s too complicated.” 

“How is it complicated?” She was almost laughing with the absurdity of the situation. 

He sighed. “The Tunnel Snakes...” She felt another drop in her gut. Was that really it? Was he really going to set her aside for...

“...Those airheads?! They don’t have anything to do with this!”

“They’re my friends, Blake.” He said a little coldly. 

“You’re wasted on them.” She snapped back. The only ‘friends’ she really had down here were Amata and Jonas, and even Amata had her own circle of friends outside of Blake. Suzie, Christine, even Monica...all of which seemed to be predisposed against Blake for some unknown reason. Adding yet another rejection onto the ever growing pile was too much for her to bear just now.

His shoulders fell. “I already get enough shit for being as nice to you as I am. If they knew...the Tunnel Snakes don’t--”

“Fuck the Tunnel Snakes! This isn’t any of their fucking business, it’s not about them or what they want. I’m asking what YOU want, Paul.” 

There was very little space between them now. Seeming to realize this, he stepped away from her. “I...I don’t know. I need more time to..” he shook his head and began heading back to the stairs that lead to the main level. She stood momentarily frozen with indignation and anger--but only for a moment. 

One furious heartbeat later, she stormed after him, grabbing him by the arm again just before he hit the stairs, spinning him around and slamming his back into the wall with such force, he immediately raised his arms in defense. He barely got a grip on her wrists, which were clenching his leather jacket, before she pressed her lips into his. 

Despite his complete and utter shock, his lips parted for hers almost instantly, having thirsted for her like a flower for sunshine. Their hands released one another in the same moment, choosing instead to wrap their arms around the other, pulling themselves ever closer and diving ever deeper into one another.

This time, with no voices or limitations and hidden away in the depths of the vault, they had the freedom to enjoy one another without interruption. Hands wandered, heartbeats increased, fingers gripped and became more desperate. They broke apart for only a moment, coming up for air and checking, just to be sure, that this was actually real before they dove back in. Somewhere along the way, Blake ended up with her back against the wall, both of his hands cupping her face like a goblet he drank from greedily. 

After an immeasurable length of time, they pulled apart again, their thirsts temporarily satisfied. They both smiled, and Paul couldn't fight an embarrassed chuckle. He then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, sighing. "You sure don't give up easy."

"Implying that I ever give up at all?"

He chuckled again, and she pressed her forehead against his. "They can't know." He said seriously, causing her to pull away and look into his eyes. "Butch, and them." She rolled her eyes and made to argue, but he held up a pleading hand and she allowed him to continue. "BOTH of us would get hell for it. It's not worth what they'd do. We can meet up down here, or by your dad's clinic, anywhere we don't frequent."

Her eyes bore into him, considering this proposal before finally relenting. "Fine." She attempted to sound stern or displeased, but was too elated at the thought of their forbidden rendezvous and was betrayed by a smirk. He couldn’t help but to smile back, and before either of them knew it, their lips met once more to seal the deal.

  
  


The next few weeks were filled with more excitement and happiness than she would have ever considered possible in her lifetime. The dull, depressingly grey walls of the Vault corridors became something entirely new, each one a secret passage that would either lead her to treasure, or the dragon’s jaws. Each hour away, in class or at work, dragged on for days which only made their time together all the sweeter. 

She made her excuses where was needed; for being late to class, not finishing a homework assignment, skipping study group sessions, or any other amongst a growing list of shirked responsibilities. None made any dispute or argument, either simply accepting her excuses or not caring enough to put  up a fight. Even her father accepted her dismissals with ease, but to his experienced eyes, the truth could only be more obvious if she were to sing and skip down every hallway.

Paul, however, had a more difficult time.

To a gaggle of wanna-be ruffians, his constantly passive demeanor had always been the subject of criticism. But adding in droopy eyes, recurring grin, and generally cheerier attitude won him outright suspicion. 

“What’s gotten into you, Pauley?!” Butch accused loudly, waving his nearly-full beer bottle aggressively. The four of them were settled in a corner in the reactor level, the most secluded place for them to ditch class and avoid the gaze of the Overseer. “Y’actin’ like yer floatin’ on Jet half the time!” Paul raised an eyebrow at Butch, trying to play off as aloof. Glancing around at the others, Freddie only swigged his own beer and Walley used his thumb to flip, then catch, the bottle cap from his drink.

“What are you on about NOW, Butch?” Paul said light-heartedly, hoping his skepticism of Butch’s constant loud-mouthing would spread and the others would take his side. 

“What am I on about.” Butch repeated mockingly. “Whaddyou think? You’ve always been the quiet type but we ain’t barely heard anythin outta ya more’n a sigh! And that’s even if you’re here. Half the time we can’t even find y’anymore.” Butch leaned forward to emphasize his point. “And don’t think I don’t know what’s goin’ on.” Even Walley glanced upwards.

Paul’s heart dropped so quickly he thought he might be sick on the spot. “Uhh, what--” 

“I heard you the other day outside the classroom.” Another pang in Paul’s chest. Hadn’t it been last week, if not the week before, when Blake had caught him alone after a detention? He had been certain there was no one else in the hallway, but--

His train of thought was interrupted as Butch continued, smiling proudly at his own detective work. “Yeah, dat’s right! Talkin’ to Teach! Apparently, our little Paul’s been getting straight A’s as of late.” 

Paul was struck dumb with confusion and relief. “Teach..?” He repeated, almost not believing it himself. Butch tilted his head cockily, leaning back to a more comfortable position and adopting a mocking voice as he went on. “Yeah, sayin’ how you ‘reaching your potential’ and ‘surprising’ the higher-ups.” 

Freddie finally chimed in with a smile. “Wow! Way to go, Paul!” Which earned him a smack on the head from Butch. “Whaddyou think dis is, The Boy Scouts?! We got a reputation here! We can’t be lookin’ all well to-do!” 

Paul actually laughed. It started out as a light chuckle, and he had to fight to keep it from evolving into a full on guffaw. “Yeah, alright.” He said, putting his hands up in feign surrender. “No point in trying to hide it now. My old man’s been gettin’ on my case about it.” He straightened up, making a screwed up angry-face and waving his finger to no one, making fun of his father. “A man with a job like yours shouldn’t be a screw-about! You’re an embarrassment to this family!” Dropping the charade, he shrugged. “Said I needed to at least do better in school or he’d tell the Overseer to put me in Maintenance instead.” 

“What a tool.” Freddie offered sympathetically. Paul smirked at him, leaning back into a more relaxed position. 

“Well...you’ll for sure come with us next week, yeah?” Butch asked, his inner-detective satisfied. “Freddie finally manned-up and snatched us some ammo from his pops stash, so we can finish puttin’ together them firecrackers!” Freddie and Butch sniggered at each other as they bumped fists, and Walley smirked in their direction. 

“Yeh, I’ll be there.” Paul said dismissively. “Figure out what y’wanna do with em?” 

“I’m glad you asked.” Butch said greasily. “Dat G.O.A.T wasn’t a waste o’time after all...we gonna drop ‘em in the Overseers toilet!” He and Freddie erupted in more laughter. 

Walley spoke up this time. “An’ I told you, that’d never work! Even IF we managed to get past all his security into his bathroom, we’d NEVER get away with it.” 

“He’s right.” Paul agreed. “Not like anyone else down here is stupid enough to pull a stunt like that.” Butch frowned at both of them. 

“Ehh, what’s he gonna do to us anyway? Ground us? H-uh.” He laughed humorlessly at his own suggestion. 

“He can still put you under house arrest.” Walley argued. “You tellin’ me you really wanna be couped up wit’yer old lady? Much as she drinks in a day, don’t think she’ll be keen on sharing.”

Butch looked a gruesome mixture of outrage at the insult to his mother, and complete horror at the truth of it. Deciding to let the infraction slide, he relented.

“Yeh...well...alright, so maybe it’s not such a good idea. Hey, how ‘bout the girls bathroom? Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll blow on his fatass daughter.” 

Despite his distaste at the idea, Paul did well in maintaining a positive air... until Walley added, “Yeh, or her closet-dyke girlfriend.”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat, but his stomach lurched two-fold when he glanced over and saw Walley looking directly at him. He immediately redirected his attention, but it’d been too late.  That one little glance, that tiniest of movements told Walley everything he needed to know. 

“Yeah! Oh man, that’d be great!” Butch shouted with a hoot of laughter.

“I dunno...” Everyone looked up in surprise at Freddie’s objection. “I mean-!” He put his hands up defensively. “Not like I’m tryin’a defend her’r nothin! It’s just, I dunno, her dad’s a pretty cool guy, I just...don’t wanna...” he trailed off, the combined stares of his only friends feeling like an actual weight. 

Before another word could be spoken, Butch’s pip-boy lit up with a jingle. “Oop, looks like class is about to let out. If we leave now, we’ll make it to the cafeteria first!” Everyone stood as he spoke, accustomed to the usual routine, but it stroked Butch’s ego to make even the simplest of orders. Paul stole another glance in Wally’s direction, but it was not returned. Maybe he’d imagined it after all, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 

Paul did not seek Blake out that day, nor the next. The arrival of the weekend gave him relief from the constant effort of avoiding her eye, shirking her approaches, and trying to drop subtle hints about their predicament. It had already been determined that weekends, when the hallways and common areas were significantly more full of bystanders, were too much of a risk for any secret meetings. At the very least, it gave Paul an opportunity to reinforce his loyalty to the group.

 

It wasn't until much later in the evening that he gave a rap on her apartment door. Immediately upon doing so, he was reminded with a heart-wrenching jolt that it was in fact, her  _ father’s  _ apartment, as he was the one who answered. 

Paul froze up in momentary panic, but James had a soothing presence to him that seemed to spread to those around him. Feeling his lips loosen a little, he was able to mutter, "Is, uh, Blake h-home?" 

James smiled, but it was more than just hospitable. There was a twist of humor to it. "No, I'm afraid she isn't, Paul." Paul’s shoulders wilted, and he hesitated for a moment before shifting his weight to turn away. "But--" James caught him, his smile spreading. "If you promise to keep it between the two of us, you might be able to find her down in the Reactor levels."

Paul stared back at James, putting together what he’d just been told. James only offered a nod before stepping back into his apartment and closing the door. Taking a moment to gather the courage, Paul altered his course and headed to the lower levels. 

As he descended the metal stairs, he heard a metal-on-metal  _ CLACK _ that told him she was practicing with her BB-Gun. To the left of the generator was a doorless archway, which lead to the resonating sounds of bb pellets. He hovered there, watching her.

She stood at full height, as always. Spine straight, shoulders back, feet apart, the rifle raised as she peered down the iron sights. He waited until she took her next shot to approach - when she did, another dent was added to the cluster gathered in the bullseye. 

“Blake?”

She spun around and made another poor attempt to hide the rifle with her own body. “Paul..!” She stammered, her tone changing halfway from excited surprise to confusion. “Wh--hi! What..” she smiled and blushed, unable to finish her question, but not really feeling the need to. 

“Hi.” He replied with a grin, momentarily won over from his original intention. They awkwardly moved towards one another, pausing to try to find words and, when none came, stepped forward again. He stopped on his mark, but she continued until the final step wove into an embrace and kiss. He forgot himself in her, the words that had been on his lips surrendered to hers, falling back to his tongue where they dissolved into her taste, retreating further into his throat where they dried up into thirst for more. 

 

“I  _ knew  _ it.”

Those words, those foreign, toxic words rushed in through his ears and dropped into the bottom of his stomach like an iron weight. Nearly shoving Blake away as he turned, they both saw Wally Mack standing in the doorway. “You little fuckin’ rat.” He sneered. “Y’weren’t even smart about it. Y’might’s well’ve been screwin on the desks in class for fucks sake.” 

“Jealous, Shit-Stain?” Blake intervened, flipping him off defiantly. Wally scoffed and grimaced. 

“Please. That Mr.Handy robot’s got more curves than you.” Given that Andy, the robot, took the form of an orb with three metallic arms, the effect of this insult was arguable. But before Blake could rebutt--verbally or otherwise--Paul moved forward. 

“C’mon, Wally, this ain’t got nothin t’do with you. 

Wally shrugged. “Sure don’t. I never cared much for you t’begin with. But Butch, well. He’s got this sense of loyalty’r whatever. Gonna be mighty upset when he hears about this. I think Freddie’s gonna be the only one t’miss you, though.”

“What are you even talking about.” Paul scoffed, failing to mask the anxiety in his voice.

“What, you don’t REALLY think you’re still gonna be a Tunnel Snake after this? We got a reputation, y’know? You’ve always been a weak-link, but this? Sneakin’ around, puppy love bullshit? We ain’t about that, man. How’re people s’posed t’take us seriously when you got that dumb look on yer face all th’time?” 

“Good riddance, then.” Blake put a hand in the crook of Paul’s elbow. “You cock-bites always held him back anyway. He’ll be better off...without...?” When she tugged on his arm, he resisted. Wally waited, and Paul was silent. “Paul?” She said softer, fear working its way into her voice now, too. “Paul, you can’t seriously be...” she tugged again, harder. He looked away. Wally smirked.

“Don’t tell me you actually FELL for this dame?” He goaded, and Blake felt Paul tense beneath her grip. “After all we, The Tunnel Snakes’ve been through, done for you, lookin’ out f’you, givin’ you a place to be wit’ guys who actually give a shit ‘bout’chu. That don’t matter t’you as much as some piece’a pussy?”

Both Paul and Blake turned their attention to Wally, their glares rivaling in severity. He was unphased--he simply waited. Only the silence of the womb had been longer than what now took place. Heart beating faster by the second, Blake was the first to break it. “C’mon, Paul, y’don’t need that kind of--” her words fell from the air like dry leaves when he pulled away from her. “...Paul...” this time, her voice sounded more like thorns.

Beside her, Paul’s eyes never wavered from Wally’s, locked and grappling for dominance. 

“You can’t  _ seriously  _ be thinking about this!” 

Finally Paul looked at her, the determination he’d held in his gaze overturned and defeated. “Blake...I’m sorry, but--”

“Fuck your ‘sorry’!” She spat.

“ _ Blake...  _ please. It’s...better this way. For everyone.” 

“For who?!” She asked, welling tears betraying the strength she wished to display. “You can’t tell me that what you really,  _ really  _ want is to go back to that stupid, gang of wannabe thugs who just--”

“It is!” He said sharply, turning his body towards her. “These are my friends, Blake. They actually care about me.”

“I...!” She glanced at Wally, loathing his very existence, but continued regardless...albeit in a hushed tone. “ _ I  _ care about you...” She offered, desperation dusting her breath. The look that Paul gave her in that moment would resound in the deepest corners of her dreams until her dying breath. 

“This was just a fling anyway...it had to end eventually.” He shifted towards her the way he did before planting light kisses on her forehead, but only went so far. His gaze had to only falter for a moment for her to know he was overly conscious of Wally’s presence. “So, uh...see’y’around, I guess...” He hesitated, opting out of any awkward contact and turned to join Wally instead. 

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she watched them leave together, Wally deliberately looking over his shoulder at her, his voice ringing in her head as clearly as telepathy.

_ I win. _

“...So, what?!” She shouted after them, stepping forward to get her final say. “Was that all I was? A piece of  _ pussy  _ for you, Paul?!” Neither of them faltered in their gate towards the stairs. “FUCK you! You fucking coward! You little b-itch!”” She shouted as they ascended, unable to move further as every ounce of remaining strength went towards keeping her standing upright. But soon, they were gone, and she allowed herself to crumple onto the floor.

In the darkness of the stairwell, Paul bit the inside of his lip and tried to force the sound of her sobs from his ears.

She didn’t remember much about the trip back to the apartment. It was late, and the only ones in the halls were the security guards. Knowing their routes by heart, she avoided them easily. But she could not avoid the eyes of her father, which always held a remarkable warmth despite their steely grey color. 

He was on his feet before the door closed behind her, and his arms seemed to scoop her up the same way they had done when she was small, the pain of a skinned knee as equivalent to her little body as the pain of a broken heart was to her now. 

  
  


Paul had initially hoped that as time went on, Blake’s anger would fade and at best, they could resume their awkward and silent glances to one another. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was sorely mistaken. She did very little to mask her resentment, if she indeed tried at all. The first casual greeting he’d offered her as they passed in the cafeteria was met with a resounding “Go fuck yourself”. Glances from across rooms returned with a raised finger, and he was starting to suspect that she was going out of her way to bash shoulders with him in the hallways. 

Even so, he never argued. He never rebutted or called out or aggressed. This was his punishment, and though he’d never admit it to anyone, he knew it was well deserved. He had begun to wonder if it would ever cease, and soon got his answer.

In accordance with the Overseer approved Annual Vault Events and Holidays calendar, it was Spring Break, which meant that Butch had spent the past four days doing what he usually did in his free time and was getting bored. 

Blake had done what she could to make herself scarce. While she had been progressing somewhat with her own emotions, the anger and pain she felt was starting to become exhausting. Even Amata, her closest friend, offered limited sympathy and support. Lately she only parroted different versions of “What did you expect?” and “He’s just a tunnel snake” before continuing on with her own topic of conversation. It was easier for her to stay at home or in her father’s clinic than risk seeing any one of the Tunnel Snakes and reliving every vivid detail. 

It just so happened to be her great misfortune, then, when she ran into the four of them on her way to the clinic. Her best attempt at diplomacy was to avoid eye contact and move aside. 

“Wha-hey, Little Red!” Butch’s perfected accent - and an outstretched arm - stopped her in her tracks. “Just where d’y’think YER goin?” 

“Fuck off, Butch.” She retorted in stride with the ‘not today’ glare that had always worked before. Perhaps she had used it beyond its effect, because for the first time, he did not relent. 

“Ho-ho, wrong answer.” He said threateningly, stepping directly into her path. Her hand already curled into a fist, she was already fighting to keep it at her side. 

“What’s the rush?” Wally piped up, causing Blake’s heart to stagger from the shots of adrenaline. “Got someone else waiting to give y’a good  _ pounding _ ?” He sneered, rolling his hips forward in mocking thrusts and causing Blake to snap her attention to him. If ever pressed for a definition of ‘unbridled rage’, Butch would always call to memory the look Blake had in her eyes in that moment.

Before anyone could make heads or tails of what to do next, Blake grabbed Butch by the cheaply made lapels of his leather jacket and wrenched him forward. Tossing him behind her as if he were no more than debris that had gotten in her way, Blake’s next move was to plant a left hook into the side of Wally’s face, her knuckles landing in the divot below his cheekbone. 

While Butch had been entirely unprepared and now lay prone on the ground, Wally had seen the hit coming with enough time to brace, but not dodge. Thus, instead of falling into the wall beside him as his would-be leader had done before, he recovered with his own swing, an uppercut to her jaw.

The typical scramble that had always taken place between Blake and Butch, now seemed laughable to the onlookers, Paul and Freddie. Wally’s movements were fast and deliberate, while Blake’s were fierce and unforgiving. It quickly became evident that this was no measly schoolyard brawl.

Wally took an elbow to the nose. Blake took several knees to the stomach. She got her hands around his throat, and he got in a perfect body shot at her ribs. Even Butch could only watch in bewildered awe. When a spatter of blood, spewn from Blake’s cut lip, landed on Paul’s cheek he was jerked out of his daze. He directed Freddie to run for a guard and stepped forward to intervene. 

“Guys, enough!” He shouted, and attempted to grab hold of Wally’s drawn arm. Wally’s attention was diverted for only as long as it took him to plow his free fist into Paul’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. It was then that Paul realized that, whatever Blake’s intentions might’ve been, they were surely not as sinister as Wally’s. 

As he gaped for air, Paul was forced to only spectate as Blake began to lose the battle. Another shot to the ribs doubled her over, the sensitivity from the previous hit debilitating her temporarily. But it was all Wally needed to land another blow on the side of her face, knocking her backwards onto the floor next to Butch. He only stared at her, face half swollen and covered with bruises and blood. His focus shifted as Wally approached, standing over her with a darkness in his eyes that made Butch feel like a little child. 

Whatever Wally might have done next was interrupted by a shout. Blake’s head rolled from side to side as she struggled to regain control. Officer Mack, Wally’s own father, stood at the end of the hall. “Back away. Now!” He commanded, drawing his baton. Wally turned his dark glare onto his father, and for a moment it was a unanimous certainty that he would even take on a fully armored guard. 

However, sense seemed to still reside somewhere in his mind, and so putting his hands up, he stepped away from Blake, who pushed herself up in an attempt to regain some dignity. She did not notice Butch put his hand on her back in assistance. 

“What the  _ hell  _ is going on here?!” Allen Mack shouted, taking in the scene but returning his attention to his son. “Get her to the clinic.” He barked at Butch, though never breaking contact with Wally. “And YOU, come with me.” Silent and resilient as a martyr, Wally walked forward into Officer Mack’s sharp grip, who lead him away and left the others to dwell in the aftershock. Freddie watched them leave with frightened eyes, wondering how many more additional bruises Wally would be sporting the following day. 

Butch helped Blake to her feet, but it wasn’t until Paul came to her side that she shoved them both away. “I’m fine.” She wavered, wrapping an arm around her aching chest. “Thank you.” she muttered over the shoulder that Butch stood beside, the softness in her voice a contrast to the weight that it carried. “But I’ll manage.” 

“Yeah...yeah, alright.” Butch muttered, the three of them hovering with uncertainty as she disappeared down the hall.

 

The walk to the clinic was neither long nor torturous. She was in pain, certainly, but she almost relished in it. To have a different, outer pain that distracted her from the non-stop ache she’d felt in her chest recently was actually...relieving. 

Rather than walk fully into the clinic, she paused in the doorway. She shrank into the frame, dropping her shoulders and lowering her gaze. Despite the fact that she’d come for medical attention, she appeared to be trying to make herself as small as possible. 

Jonas sat at his usual post, a desk off to the side and tapping away on his computer. A few moments had passed, Blake slouching anxiously in the doorway and wondering if she even wanted Jonas to notice her. Leaning back, he cracked his neck and finally caught sight of her.

“Oh!...Oh.” The initial pleasant surprise was instantly overwritten with concern. “My God, Blake!” He nearly knocked over his chair, and she recoiled as he approached. 

I’m alright...I mean...” 

“What-how- who is responsible for this? It wasn’t that DeLoria kid, was it?” His voice, one that always rang with positivity and cheer, dropped to lower tone that warned of danger. “The next time I get my hands on that little punk -” 

“It wasn’t Butch.” 

He paused in his examination of her face, his gentle touch in contrast with his threatening inflection. “Then who? Mack’s kid? It would be him, that mangey -” 

“Can you get Dad, please?” 

“Of course, hon. Sorry. Come on in.” 

He gestured for her to enter and made the courtesy of closing the door behind her. She followed him for a few paces, but stopped at some invisible barrier before her father’s closed office door. Jonas gave a respectful knock before cracking it open, from which she heard James’ voice.

“Not now, Jonas, I’m so close to--”

“I know,” Jonas interrupted. “But this is urgent.”

There was the sound of a sliding chair before James fully opened the door, the cogs in his brain audibly screeching to a halt as he took in the sight of his daughter. 

“Oh my God.” He muttered, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. She couldn’t bare to look him in the face - her physical maladies no longer offered her any relief, instead being overwritten by embarrassment and shame.

Placing his fingers on her jawline, she didn’t fight him as he gently turned her head this way and that, taking in a full account of the damage. 

“What...who...how...” His usual articulate composure crumbled beneath his worry.

“We’ll deal with that later.” Said Jonas.

James glanced over his shoulder, nodded and gestured her into his office which doubled as an examination room. Jonas, following them inside, closed the door behind them.

She paid no attention to how long the whole thing lasted. In fact, she tried to pay attention to anything else she could. As much as she hated getting that look from James, seeing Jonas’ brow creased with concern made her stomach twist.

Meanwhile, James pressed lightly on different spots on her face, rolled her wrist, pinched her hand and fingers, and felt along her ribcage, every poke and prod pulling out some kind of grimace or hiss.

A great sigh told her they’d reached a halfway point. “It’s a miracle nothing’s broken. Your ribs are bruised and your hands took a lot of damage, but you won’t be needing any casts.” She kept her eyes averted, knowing he turned away but not what for until she felt a cold cloth against her skin.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” It sounded more like a command than a question as he washed the drying blood from her cheek. As difficult as it was for her to even find the words, it was harder still speaking them out loud. All she could offer was a shamed silence.

“Blake...” Her heart dropped. She hated that tone. “How many more times are we going to have this discussion?” He relented with the cloth, allowing her some reprieve. “You  _ cannot  _ continue behaving this way! You’re a young woman now, with responsibilities to the community and your peers. If the Overseer -- “

“Fuck the Overseer.” She spat.

James held her eyes for a moment, then turned to Jonas. “Would you give us a moment, please?” 

“Sure.” He nodded to James and Blake in turn before exiting.  

His first response was a groan and sigh. “Look. I know...I know it’s not perfect down here. But it’s--”

“It’s  _ safe _ .” She echoed the line with a drawl as he spoke it, rolling her eyes. 

“Yes, it is.” He forcefully emphasised. “And that’s all your mother and I ever wanted for you.”

“Safe from what?” She asked listlessly, arguing only for arguments sake, and saying anything she could to avoid the topic of her mother. 

“You know from what. The Wastes are a dangerous place. There’s radiation everywhere and all kinds of monsters...it’s no place to live.”

It was the same diatribe she’d heard countless times over, from teachers and parents and directly from the Overseer himself. But the way James said it now...there was an urgency to it that had been lacking in the parroted speeches of the others. 

“How do you know?” She had tried, and failed, to hide her suspicions.

“Well, that’s what the Overseer says, isn’t it?” His answer held the same confidence as the previous one, causing Blake to doubt only herself. “We’re born in the Vault, and we die in the Vault. It’s how it has to be to keep everyone safe.” Ah, there it was. That monotone repetition she heard in every other adult.

“And we can’t ever, EVER leave?” She pressed. 

“That’s not the way it works.” He said sternly. “And it won’t do to go around saying things like that. You’re already in enough trouble getting into fights like these.” He raised a hand to brush one of the deepening bruises on her cheek. 

“What happened? Did Butch do this?” 

“N-no...” Knowing she couldn’t avoid the conversation forever, she shifted uncomfortably and tried to find the right words.

“It...well...Wally was the one who convinced Paul to break up with me.” She blushed and averted her eyes, embarrassed to be discussing such intimate things with her dad. 

“I see.” He was sympathetic, but it didn’t help.

“The four of them caught me in the hall--I tried to ignore them! I tried to just keep my head down and walk around them, but, Butch got in my way and...Wally kinda, threw that back in my face, and I just...” She looked down at her hands, unable to continue.

He laced a lock of hair behind her ear in attempt of comfort and encouragement, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Where is he now? Do you know?” Her eyes flickered upward but did not hold his gaze.

“His dad showed up. Called him off and walked off with him.” She sounded almost remorseful. Where Wally got his violent streak from was a secret to no one. 

“I see.” James said again, more solemnly as he rubbed his chin, dark with five o’clock shadow. He pondered this information for a handful of seconds before returning his attention to her. “Go on home and rest. I’ll be there shortly, I just need to go over a few things here.”

A small light filled her eyes for the first time in a long while. “What are you working on? Can I help?” Her eagerness shone through her injuries, making her look almost puppy-like.

Despite her vision being compromised, the panic that flashed through his face was unmistakable. “Oh, just. Research. On--Vault Depressive Syndrome.” Charismatic as he was, she knew a lie when she heard one. 

“Oh. Well, alright. See you at home, then.” She feigned disinterest, but it appeared to have worked.

“Jonas can walk you home, if you like.”

“No, I’ll be fine.” The only dangers ever posed to her before were, at least temporarily, indisposed. “Thanks, dad. I’m...I’m sorry I keep messing up.” 

His usual, gentle smile reappeared and soothed her some. Cautious of her injuries, he opted for a kiss on her forehead instead of a hug. “Things will get better. I promise.” 

She smiled up at him before sliding off the examination table. She gave Jonas a ginger goodbye hug, and he gave her a light kiss on the forehead as James called him back in.

Curiosity filled her stomach with such weight that she was brought to a halt outside the clinic doors. Waiting a minute or two to allow them a sense of security, she moused back into the room. This proved more difficult than she originally expected, as she had to keep pausing to force back a hiss or groan. Soon enough, she made it to the door and pressed her ear against it. 

“...still unstable. But! With the data you sent me last week, once I reconfigured the equation to include the new variables and--well, here, just look.”

James’ voice gave way to the clatter of fingers over a keyboard, a final  _ tap _ of a key, followed by silence. 

“Oh my god.” Jonas breathed with awe.

“Do you see what this means?” There was an excitement in her father’s voice she hadn’t heard for years, if ever before. “I think it’s  _ finally  _ possible. If we could just enter this into the main computer and adjust the equipment as necessary, then--”

“Don’t tell me you’re  _ actually  _ thinking of--”

But what James may or may not have actually been thinking of, Blake did not hear. Instead, alarms went off in her mind as she heard the quiet tap of footsteps in the hallway. Moving as quickly as her damaged frame would allow, she cleared out of the clinic. 

Turning the corner, she found there had been no need to worry at all. Amata stood before her, surprised by her sudden appearance. “Blake! I was just...Jesus, look at you.” She raised a hand as though to touch Blake, confirming that what she saw was the truth. “I caught a glimpse of Wally walking somewhere with his dad. He looked PISSED. God. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” Blake waved her arm dismissively and immediately regretted it. “Well, nothing’s broken at least.” She relented.

“Probably more than we can say for Wally. I’m pretty sure you broke his nose. Hard to tell, but he looked more fucked up than usual.”

Blake smiled but held in the laugh - she didn’t think her ribs would be so forgiving. 

“What did your dad say?” Amata asked quietly, like a sister who had somehow missed being in trouble too. Glancing back at the clinic, Blake walked forward and motioned for Amata to follow her.

“The usual. He was pretty freaked at first. I think Jonas is gonna dismember Wally if he ever finds out. But it didn’t take long before it turned into another lecture. ‘This is where you’re safe, you need to behave, respect the Overseer’, blah blah blah.” 

“Sounds about right.” Amata sighed with solidarity, having gotten the same lecture from James himself when he’d overheard them bad mouthing the authorities. “Are they  _ still  _ working?” She asked, suddenly realizing their improper absence.

“Yeah. Sounds like they’re on the verge of something big. He said it was just something about VDS, but that sounded like bullshit, especially after what I just heard.”

“Wow, really? What did you hear? What do you think it really is?” Amata asked excitedly, having a seditious love for anything that might drive a thorn in her father’s side. 

“No idea. Something about equations and variables and computers. It’s probably just something boring, like...making the reactor more efficient or whatever.”

“Yeah...” Amata sighed heavily. “Or! Maybe it’s like, like a...mind-control device, and he and Jonas are gonna slowly take over the Vault through indoctrination.” She sounded entirely too thrilled about this possibility.

Blake couldn’t help but laugh. “Hah! Yeah, that’s gotta be it. And then they’re gonna enter a command to make the Overseer to open the Vault.”

“Pfft, yeah right. Now you’ve gone too far.” Amata said with a sarcastic deadpan. 

Blake scoffed. “Yeah, well. A girl can dream.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t for a couple of days afterwards that Wally was seen back with the trio. As the residential medic, James had confirmed that his daughter had broken his nose during the tussle - and had to fight down a proud smirk when he told her. Jonas hadn’t been so reserved, and bought her a sweetroll every day for a week, ‘just because’. 

No one talked about the rest of his injuries, the ones that even Blake knew she hadn’t inflicted. What was there to be said about them, anyway? Allen Mack was head of the security force, and as special pet of the Overseer, was in no danger of losing the position.

The whole ordeal had actually brought on something of a cease fire. Days spread into weeks, spread into months.The Tunnel Snakes, finding it better to lay low for a while, resigned to simply drinking their parents alcohol in the lower levels. The girls from Blake’s class had started talking to her more, and before long she had an actual circle of friends instead of just the one. She did so well at her job that she found her talents spilling over into maintenance, medical, or anywhere else she was needed. Life had, as her father promised, gotten better. Her nineteenth birthday came and went, an old woman in the apartment block over passed away, one of Blake’s classmates had gotten pregnant, and thus the circle of life in the Vault continued. Blake had stopped wanting to take a swing at Paul whenever she saw him, and she supposed that was good, too. 

In fact, she found that the only thing worth complaining about was the increasing amounts of time her father spent in his office - often staying the night after having fallen asleep over his work. She had pestered and begged him to let her help, but all she got in return were vague dismissals. Upon her fierce insistence, he would at least take breaks when she would bring he and Jonas dinner or coffee, but even this was an uncommon occurrence.

It did not strike her odd, therefore, when he did not open his door to accept his plate. Nor did it worry her in the slightest when he did not return home that same night. It wasn’t until she was jarred awake by blaring sirens that she knew something was horribly wrong.

 

\--

 

I’m out of bed and bolting for the door before my eyes are fully open, barely holding in a scream when Amata’s standing on the other side. Before I can say anything, she steps inside and ushers me back into the bedroom.

“Amata, what th--?!” 

“You have to get out of here!” Jesus Christ, she’s terrified. 

“What’s going on?”

“Your father is  _ gone _ , and my father’s men are coming for you.”

“Wh-gone? Who--how-” Questions fill up my mouth faster than I can articulate them.

She’s twitchy, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. “James has  _ left _ the Vault! I don’t know how or why, but he did. He’s gone, and my father is  _ furious _ .”

“Wh-” No. No, that can’t be right. Alfonse is a hardass Overseer, but he’s not unreasonable. Well, not... _ entirely _ . “I...I’ll try to talk to him, see if I can--”

“You don’t understand!” I try to walk past her, but she grabs my arm and spins me around. “He doesn’t want to question you, he wants to-” I  _ really  _ don’t like the look in her eyes when she can’t even finish the sentence. “Make an  _ example  _ of you. They...they already got to Jonas.”

In that moment, I was certain I’d been skewered straight through my heart. At first, I can’t even move. 

"No..." Thoughts pour out of my brain like sand, leaving behind nothing but the echo of her words. "No, no no no!" I stumble backwards, like this is just another fight with Butch and I can end it with the right tactics, I just need the space to breathe and plan, but the only thing that happens is the room starting to spin.

What does she mean, ‘ _ got to _ him’? Just detained. I want to believe he’s just detained. I have to believe it. But the way she said it...the look in her eyes. I think I’m going to throw up.

"You need to focus.” I snap back to her, staring like a child. “In my father’s office, there's a passageway that leads straight to the Vault door. I think you can access it through his computer, but that's going to be your best shot."

My brain churns like a wagon wheel through mud. A passageway, beneath the Overseer’s office, protected by passwords, locked doors, armored, angry men with guns, and it’s supposed to be my best shot? It sounds like lunacy, but right now I only have enough mental energy to just trust that she knows what she’s talking about. 

Not Jonas...

"I...I swiped this from my dad's safe. I hope you won't have to use it, but..." She trails off, a small six-chambered revolver in her hand.

Precious seconds pass by in silence as I actually consider it. I want to take it. Especially if...if what she says is true, then..."No." What am I thinking?! I’ve only ever shot my BB gun, never a real one. I don’t even know if I could actually use it against anyone. I’ve known these people my whole life, could I really...? "No, I won't make a bigger mess of this." 

Amata seems uncertain, but stashes the gun back into her belt. I feel like I should say more, and it looks like she wants to, too. But what is there to say? I’m still not sure this isn’t some completely fucked nightmare. And if it’s not, neither of us knows if we’ll ever see each other again. But we also don’t want it to be goodbye. We both nearly piss ourselves when Alphonse's voice comes over the loudspeaker again.

"Attention residents of Vault 101. The situation is under control. Do NOT interfere with Vault Security personnel. There is an active curfew until further notice. Anyone seen outside their quarters or aiding the fugitive will be dealt with accordingly."

Christ...holy shit. So this  _ is _ happening. This is real. And they’re coming for me. 

"There's no more time." Amata says uselessly. "You need to leave, now. I'll hold them off and meet you at the door if I can, but  _ don’t  _ wait for me. And be careful."

"Yeah...yeah, you too. Thank you, Amata. Thank you."

She nods and smiles, almost like we’re gonna see each other in class tomorrow, and leaves. I start to follow but, I guess I am going to need some kind of weapon. Not my BB gun, that’d be about as useful as spitting at them. So I go for the baseball bat under my bed, pull on my boots, and twist my hair back and out of my eyes.

I make to turn right out of the apartment door, but the corridor’s blocked with a cluster of radroaches. I don’t have the time to deal with them, so when they start coming after me, I go left instead and haul ass. Footprints always echoed like shouts down these narrow halls, but I can’t even hear my own thundering boots over the blaring alarms. 

Washed in the flashing red lights, the Vault feels more like an alien spaceship than the home I’ve always known. Dents and scratches litter the walls where stray bullets ricochet off. I look between directional signs that hang from the ceiling - common room, cigar lounge, apartment block C - all of them glowing a threatening red instead of the usual placid green. I’ve gone through these hallways so many times I could navigate them with my eyes closed - at least before. Now they just feel hostile. Dangerous.

I slow down for a second to collect my bearings. Where am I? Ah. Down the hall is where I need to go next. Past a T-intersection that breaks off to the left - only more apartments down that way - is a door that leads to the diner. I start running again when Butch comes bolting out of the apartment block and we almost barrel into each other. 

“Blake!”

Goddamnit, Butch,  _ not fucking now _ . I lift my bat, hoping it’ll be enough to scare him off. But he surprises me and actually puts his hands up in surrender. “No no, wait! It’s my mom - you gotta help her!” I’ve never seen him like this before. His eyes are popping out of his head and he looks like he’s...been crying? “Radroaches got into our place and they got ‘er trapped in there! Please, you gotta help!” 

He’s practically begging me. Probably would even fall to his knees if I told him to. Kinda want to. But the fear in his eyes, the way he’s twisting his hands...now I see it. I see what Dad saw, and tried to show me. Not a heartless or aggressive delinquent, but a young boy who had too many troubles and too few people to care. The alarms are still blaring and every heartbeat is a second wasted. The door is  _ right there _ , I could probably run by before he’d know what to do. Jesus, he looks exactly like I feel. I may as well have been looking into a mirror.  _ Sigh _ .

“Butch...Alright. Let’s go.”

Oh my God, he looks like he’s going to cry. Again. Please don’t. He doesn’t, just takes me around the corner to his unit. I can hear Mrs.DeLoria screaming from the second room and push past him. She’s curled up on the bed in the corner to the right of the door, trying to use a table lamp to defend against the three radroaches that’re nipping at her toes. “Butch-y!!” She screams, eyes clamped shut but flowing with tears. I don’t think she even knows I’m here.

Bringing the bat up again, I turn on my toe and swing like it’s the Little League Championship. One roach goes flying into the wall opposite the bed, the one next to it caught in the path and knocked onto its side. It gets back on its feet faster than I thought it would, and instinctively swing downward, aiming in the general vicinity of its saucer-sized head. After a handful of swings, and impressively gruesome crunches and splurts, the front half of its body is completely mashed and it stops fucking wriggling. 

The one I flung to the wall is back up and comin’ at me real quick. Not enough time to wind up for another swing, and I’m still catching my breath from the last one, so I lift my leg and stomp my boot down on top of its head. There’s an awful  _ crack,  _ but all’ve its legs are still gunning full bore, so I shift my weight and start bouncing on the damn thing until its head finally pops underneath my weight. Ugh.

The last one either don’t know or don’t care that I’m there, it’s still trying to scramble onto the bed. Quick hit to the side and it’s on its back, and it’s a lot easier bashing in its soft stomach.

Brownish green fluid and bits are spread everywhere, chunks of it stuck to the legs of my jumper.  _ Gross. _ Takes me a minute to catch my breath, don’t realize I’d been holding it in while I turned that last one into jelly. Mrs.DeLoria scrambles off the bed and blows past us, going into the bathroom to hurl. 

“You did it! She’s gonna be okay! Thank you, man. Thank you.” That’s...nice and all, but I gotta go. Before I can, though, he blocks my way. “Listen, I know--I know we ain’t always best pals’r nothin’. An’ I said a fairly colorful thing or two about you an’ everything but...I...well...” He rolls his shoulders back and slides off his leather jacket, handing it to me.

What.

I don’t even have a chance to wonder if he’s doin’ what I think he’s doin’. The Overseer’s warning blasts over the loudspeakers again, and Butch pushes it into my hands. “I want you to have it. As thanks f’r savin’ my ma, an...and as apology for e’ry’thing else I ever said.” It was right about then that I felt more compassion towards Butch than I ever would have thought possible.

“Thanks, Butch.” The jacket’s nice and heavy. Much as I hated Butch, I always loved the jackets - but even Paul didn’t know that. I can’t deny they’re a little gaudy, but it’s much sturdier than it looks. Slipping it on, I can already tell it’s gonna give me a lot more resistance than just this rotten old jumper.

 

Back in the hall, I give a quick look around before ripping towards the diner. I glance inside as I run by, and see three radroaches tearing bits off of a body. Ugh. I think I might actually throw up. Coming upon the left is the staircase going down to the Reactor - its sign is red, too. That’s where I’d go to shoot. Meet up with Paul. Work with Jonas.

Jonas. 

Not Jonas.  _ Not Jonas _ .

Keep moving forward. Forward, up the stairs two at a time, and around the corner is d- _ FUCK!  _ Holy shit I almost fall backwards down the stairs trying to avoid the spiral of fire that shoots at me from down the hall. What the hell?!

“Deepest apologies, madam!” Fuckin’ Andy. Ever since Stanley got his hands on that Mr.Handy robot, it’s gone completely overboard with even the simplest tasks. One time it tried cutting my birthday cake with a circular saw. It was awesome. “I had only meant to scorch the wretched critter at your feet. Are you unharmed?” 

When I look down I can see a brick of coal that looks vaguely radroach shaped. “Y-yeah, I’m--” Well, really, I’m just short of utterly terrified, but that’s not really something you discuss with a flamethrowing british robot. “Fine.” That’ll do, I guess. But I’m not. I’m really, really not. Even physically, my head is spinning and pounding at the same time. Or is that my heart? God. Y’know, I’d have sworn my heart stopped over twenty minutes ago, but from the way it keeps aching, it seems that this isn’t just a horrific nightmare after all.

Andy’s got another roach to torch so he hovers on down the hallway. Just past him is a door that leads to the atrium, and its sign is still green. That’ll be where I head next. Right now, though, I dip to the left and walk into the open doors of Dad’s clinic.

Just standing in the doorway, my stomach does a flip. The drawers from Jonas’ desk are all pulled from their tracks, their contents sprawled across the floor, and his computer is gone. The cabinets that they’d used for supply storage were also stripped bare, and I can hardly see a spot of floor through the mess. Across from where I’m standing, Dad’s office door is hanging off a single hinge like a loose tooth. Despite the room being a fucking disaster, it don’t feel right just stomping over everything like it’s dirt, so I carefully make my way across.

His drawers are also empty, but purposefully, it seems, since each one still on its tracks. But his computer looks worse than Butch after one of our fights. Thing’s totally smashed in, glass is shattered, wires all pulled. There’s some junk scattered around his floor and desk, too, but not nearly as much as outside.

“C’mon..c’mon, c’mon!” There’s gotta be  _ something  _ here, something he forgot or had to leave behind, anything to give me any idea of where he might have gone or what the  _ fuck _ he was thinking.

“Blake!” Fuck! I jump so bad I’m pretty sure I just lost five years off my life. Looking out the door, I see Officer Gomez standing between me and the exit. Fully armored, fully armed, and I’m cornered inside a doctor’s office. Nowhere to run, and I’ve only got one choice. My hands tighten around my bat, and my lungs tighten around their lack of air. 

“Woah! Take it easy, kid. Look, I’m not gonna hurt you, but I don’t think the others are going to be so forgiving.” Yeah, right. I only lower my bat a few inches. “You need to get out of here as fast as you can. I’ll tell the rest I didn’t see you.” 

No way. Liar. It’s a trap. Soon as I try to go past him he’ll grab me or cuff me or--God, would he really shoot me? But what if he is trying to help? “Do...do you know where my father went?” 

He frowns. He looks sincere, but then again, the best liars always do. “I’m real sorry, Blake, but, no. I don’t know anything about what’s going on, except that the Overseer wants you taken in at all costs. I can’t believe it’s actually come to this. But you need to get out,  _ now. _ ” He moves before I do, and it’s only when he turns his back to me that I really start to believe him. He looks out into the hall and waves me forward. Not like I have any other options. “Good luck.” He says, turning right. I watch him go around the corner and down the stairs before I go left, towards the Atrium. Halfway there.

I don’t know what I expect when I walk into the Atrium. It’s the biggest room in the vault, stretching over two apartment blocks and extending beneath the Overseer’s office. This is where we had our Little League championships, where Dad and Jonas would cheer me on from the sidelines. This is where my schoolmates had their birthday parties. Where we had dances, celebrations, and gatherings. I always thought I hated this place, but all I can think about as I run through it is all the happiness that still lingers in the spaces.

I guess it wasn’t so bad after all...

A few meters ahead, I hear voices. Can’t tell em apart from one another - sounds like an arguing couple. 

“Let’s just go back, please?” Moving forward, I can see them both. Mary Holden arguing with her brother, Tom.

“No way. This is our  _ only  _ shot.”

“I know, but, maybe it’s not such a good--”

“C’mon, Mary, if he can do it, so can we! Do you really wanna spend the rest of your life down here?”

Mary shrank away from him. She was always kind of a doormat. “N-no, but--”

“Me neither. I’m gettin out of here, just like the doc. And nobody's gonna stop me.” He starts to run, and even though I’m meters back Mary and I both make a grab for him.

“Tom, wait!” She’s too slow. He’s running to the opposite end of the Atrium, towards an open hallway with a red sign. I can’t even think of what to do but then there’s gunfire, Mary’s screaming, and  only lived long enough to run to her brothers side before they tear her down, too.

I can’t stop staring. Pools of blood spread out from their bodies. My entire body feels like cement. Too heavy for my heart. Feels like it’s going to stop. I almost want it to stop. I know that they won’t but I keep expecting them to stand up again. To stand up and shake it off, because everything is fine and there’s  _ no way _ they could have just died like that. 

Something moving ahead of them pries my attention away. Just beyond them, diagonally across me is a door, jammed open with a single locker. The sides of the door spark and whine as they attempt to do their job, and the sign over the door is flickering between red and green, occasionally displaying solid black text that reads  **UPPER LEVEL** . 

All at once I remember why I’m running. Why I could only take what I could carry, what I'm going after, what I'm leaving behind, who I'm leaving behind, and why I can't afford to stop or look back. So I do the only thing I can do, the only option left to me. I run.

I run across the Atrium, past their bodies, doing all I can not to look down, to ignore the deepening red that will surely rob me of my courage as swiftly as they had been robbed of their lives. As I push forward, the clatter of bullets against the stairs beneath my feet make me realize that I am, in fact, capable of running even faster.

I don’t know this route as well. I know the Overseer’s office is through “Admin”, so I keep following signs for that, bolting past apartments and grazing second-hand glances in through the windows as I go. How many people are ‘safe’ at home? How many of them have been slaughtered already? Most of them don’t even notice me until I’ve passed. Some of them throw up middle fingers or balled fists. One of them pounds on the glass and shouts something, but I don't hear it. I have to keep going. I've lost enough time with all these distractions. 

“Blake!” Of all the voices to call after me, it had to be his. And only his could convince me to stop. Despite my desperation, and the fear that claws at my tailbone like a predator in pursuit, only for him I stop and turn around. Paul’s beautiful brown eyes stare right into mine, and neither of us can seem to find words to fill the empty space in the air. 

_ Come with me _ . The thought bubbles in my heart, goes up through my lungs and makes it to my tongue as we hear, “This way!” come from down the corridor.

I step backwards, my mind struggling against the Flight response of my body. I can't look away. His eyes start to shine and I would do anything to stay, but I've learned by now I only have one choice. So I force my eyes shut and keep running, looking back only long enough to catch a glimpse of his hand reaching out to me as his mother pulls him back inside their apartment.

 

Good.

 

The signs for Admin take me through the Systems room - server after server, lined up in a row with a variety of flashing indicator lights. There’s another body laying between two.  I don't even offer them a glance when I run by, and what's worse is I don't feel bad for it. At least not yet. I guess sympathy is a luxury afforded only to the innocent. 

All day my body had been reacting faster than my brain, pushing itself forward or out of dangers path. Just now as I rip past Security, once more it responds to my environment before it fully processes in my brain. Alarms blare outside and inside my head, and going back to the window it comes together. The Overseer and his attack dog Allen Mack have their backs to the window, bearing down on -

“Amata!”

She’s crying, but staring up at them defiantly. Her voice is muffled through the glass but I hear her say, “I told you I don’t know!”

Don’t tell me he’s actually..

“Now Amata, calm down, you’re only making this harder on yourself. Just tell me where she is and this whole thing will be over!”

He really has lost it. Does he even realize that’s his own goddamn daughter in that chair?!

“Amata, don’t make me do something I don’t want to.” He says to her silence. My hands are rolled into fists and shaking with fury. He wouldn’t. His own daughter! Surely even he wouldn’t go so far as to...? Allen stepping forward tells me that apparently, he would.

“No!” My voice mixes with Amata’s as I push into the room and the three of them stare in surprise. I’m one step ahead of them only for a moment. Faster than going for his gun, Allen Mack raises his baton. Grabbing his wrist buys me just enough time to tell Amata to run, and she leaps out of the chair with such force it clatters backwards. Watching her go costs me my advantage, and the back of Allen Mack’s free hand sends me into the wall. I think he split my lip. Can’t tell right away, too much adrenaline. I know I have no chance against him, but I won’t go down without a fight, so I raise my hands - and so does the Overseer. With one flat palm, he calls off his attack dog who settles obediently under his master’s commands. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” I hate the tone in his voice. Like he’s some annoyed parent that I disobeyed and should fear. “I sincerely hope you’ve come to turn yourself in. You’ve caused quite enough trouble as it is.”

“I came to save Amata.” My voice drips with venom, every word enunciated to show with perfect clarity how much I hate him. “To save your own  _ daughter  _ from you.”

“Please.” He actually fucking scoffs at me. “She was never in any  _ real  _ danger. I was just doing what I had to do as the Overseer, to protect the Vault from the likes of you.” For a split second I see an image of myself lunging for his throat. How  _ dare  _ he pretend like that was  _ anything _ but what it was!

“Then let me go, and I’ll just be a bad memory.”

“Not likely.” His composure is starting to crack with the furrow in his brow. “ _ Someone  _ must be held accountable for this mess, and since your father is no longer here, well...I guess we’ll have to make do, won’t we?”

Yeah, didn’t think it’d be that easy. But what now? I glance sideways to the door.

“Don’t even think about it. Slippery though you may be, you can’t outrun his bullets.”

Allen Mack looks like he’d sure love it if I gave it a try anyway. Damnit. I’m glad Amata is safe, but did I just lose my one shot to get out of here? Damnit. Damnit!

“...Fine.” Guess I’ll have to improvise. I stand up right, drop my bat, and hold out my wrists for Allen Mack to cuff. If I cooperate for now I might be able to catch them off guard. Or get myself killed. Mack looks to Alfonse who nods, and Allen holsters his baton.

His hands are empty and his attention is turned, hands busy with the cuffs. If I have any shot, this is it. I grab the straps on his body armor with my outstretched hands, and pull his entire weight into my knee as I delve it into his groin.  There’s not even a sound louder than the air going out of his lungs and he just sinks into a heap on the ground. I pick up my bat again and turn to the Overseer, and I feel it. That wolf, that predatory danger that always lurked behind Wally’s eyes. I feel it raise the hair on the back of my neck like hackles, feel it surge through my arms like claws, feel it well in my mouth like a thirst for blood. 

“G-Guards!” He stumbles backwards and I can’t believe I actually fell for his fucking propaganda. Always believing - scoffing and rolling my eyes the entire way, but nonetheless constantly falling for his bullshit, that he was this big bad powerful dude who controlled everything about our lives. 

And only now I realize how fucking stupid that is. 

He’s just another dipshit in a jumpsuit. Only maintained his authority because we sustained it, not because he earned it. How pathetic. Of all of us.

If he weren’t Amata’s father, I feel like I’d take at least one swing to his skull. But that won’t give me what I need, and she’s already suffered enough for trying to help me. I will  _ not  _ take any action that will leave their marks on her once I’m gone. But he doesn’t know that. “Hand it over now or I’ll loot it off your corpse - I can wait.”  He thinks I’m a bigger delinquent than the fuckin’ Tunnel Snakes - wild, feral and malicious. Might as well use it to my advantage. 

He stops struggling long enough to stare at me with wide doe-eyes and I know he believes me, he actually thinks I’d do it. If it weren’t for Amata...

He scrambles through his pockets and holds out a single key-card. His is a pastel orange, rather than the faded green of everyone else’s. I snatch it and run. I don’t know if he tries to grab me or if he just sinks into his own piss. I leap over Mack’s body - did he  _ pass out _ ? - and from this angle it’s almost a straight shot to the next turn down the hallway. At the end of this corridor is a right turn into Operations, at the heart of which, naturally, is the Overseer’s Office.

When the room comes into view, it startles me so much I actually slow to a stop. I’d never actually been this close to the Overseer’s Office - ‘visited’ Security a couple of times but always got sent back home, never further along. And seeing the signs for ‘Operations’, I’d always imagined that it’d be full of computers and machines but damn. I’m pretty sure the walls themselves are made of machinery, there’s all kinds of flashing lights and control panels everywhere. A huge display of screens broadcast live feeds from the cafeteria, the Atrium, the reactor, even living quarters. The thought of people watching me inside my own home drips down my spine like cold oil. 

I turn away, continuing to look around at the data charts, info feeds, desks and--

Oh, no.

No no no no no.

What I thought I saw goes blurry as my eyes fill with tears, but one blink floods them out. 

No...

Even though my feet are moving, they’re working on their own because my heart feels too tight to pump even a single blood cell. 

No no  _ no!! _

Beside Jonas’ body, I fall to my knees and fail to see anything through the rush of tears. Not Jonas...Not Jonas...I reach out, fix his glasses. They’re messed up, sitting sideways on his face. That’s not right. No, they need to be straight. He was always so dignified...he should only be so now.

My lungs are begging for air but I reject it. I almost don’t want to breathe, like it’s rebellious and defiant, like I am a spoiled child who will get their way if I threaten to turn purple. But I know I won’t. And it’s only as a sob breaks from my lips that I realize, opening my lungs to air would be opening the dam of sorrow I do not have the time to empty.

I readjust his glasses again. They need to be right. They need to sit a little low on his nose so that he can look over the frames at me with that spark in his eye that he’d get whenever he had an idea. And his eyes need to be closed, not wide with panic and fear, like he’s fallen asleep on his break again and I’m going to leave him a coffee to let him know I was there, and that I’m grateful for everything and that I love him. And his collar needs to be straight, with his pens in his pocket just like the last time I saw him, when he stopped his work to talk to me about mine. And all the times before that, when he was charming, when he was clever, when he was alive and happy and  _ not like this _ .

Allowing myself only one more sputter, I reach to take his hand instead, but something is already there. A holotape? But there’s no note or marker on either side. Voices down the hall bring me harshly back to my time limit. Not done yet. Pocketing the tape, I give his hand a final squeeze. I don’t know if he can feel it, or if he knows, but I have to believe that he does. I need to believe, even if just for the moment, that he is waiting in Limbo or somewhere nearby and can feel, through this physical connection, everything I can no longer say. My gratitude. My sorrow. My love.

Fire builds in my chest. Anger, loathing, rage. I don’t want to just leave him here. It makes me sick thinking of what they’ll do to him. But I know I can’t take him with me. Tearing myself away from him is like tearing off my own arm. Leaving him behind, I leave behind a part of myself. A part I’ll never forgive for letting go of. He deserves better than this. He always did.

A few more weeping breaths...

...And then I’m on my feet...

...and moving on.

 

Finally, I stand before the Overseer's office. And finally, his guards have caught up to me. I slide the keycard, the door swishes open, I spin on my heel and slam the control button with an open palm and it closes shut on the wide eyes of the guards, who immediately start pounding their fists and shouting for entry. That was  _ way  _ too close.

For the first time, I feel like I have a moment to breathe. Back against the door, my legs give out and I slide to the floor, tucking my face into my knees. The pounding of fists meshes with the pounding of my own heart. It’s been, what, half an hour? It only feels like a mere thirty seconds of my own imagination, and if I think hard enough I can wake myself up, prove its all not real. But my body shakes harder than my wish can sustain itself. 

Behind me there's a clatter of bullets followed by an electrical burst. I think they just sealed me in here, fuckin’ idiots. As if I already didn’t have a choice...god, I grew up with these people...!

The tremors in my arms and legs seep inward, through my muscles, into my bones and deep into my torso, making me take quick, useless breaths as tears roll down my face. And this time I let them. I let myself collapse into my own sorrow and fear. For all I know, this is the last chance I'll have. So I cry, I cry and I yell and I don't even fight against hyperventilation. I wait until all the air has left my lungs, and only great heaving gasps can fill them up again. And because of that, I start breathing close to normally. Long, slow, in, and out, until everything slows down and I feel functional enough to pull myself back to my feet. 

Now I take in the office for the first time - It hadn’t exactly been high on the list of things demanding my attention until now. It’s circular, with a semi-circle desk in the middle, the chair positioned slightly askew so it faces me directly, like it’s been waiting for me all along. Along the back wall, directly across from me is a machine that takes up the whole wall as four giant screens. There’s a control panel with a keyboard, power switch, and two more smaller monitors. One of them blinks a single word:

 

> PASSWORD: 

 

Shit, forgot that bit. And I’ve never worked on a computer more complex than Mr.Brotch’s. Welp, let’s see what we can do. I flip the power switch off and on, and as soon as I get the opportunity, I type in the commands to open the BIOS screen. Sure enough, I’m granted a series of menus. Uh, shit, okay, I need the password, so...maybe if I can boot it in recovery mode that’ll get me...something.

Alright, uhm...maybe..

> cd /var/log
> 
> grep -Ri ‘pass’*

A list of different logs pour out after I hit enter, and I strain my eyes to try to filter through all the logs until I find what I need. And there it is, down near the bottom;

> /var/log/ [ waterReport.log ](http://waterreport.log) 238: sediment pass-through 1, 67% clear. 
> 
> /var/log/ [ foodReport.log ](http://foodreport.log) 432: qa check: pass 
> 
> /var/log/ [ vaultSecurity.log ](http://vaultsecurity.log) 20: password updated to 'Amata12'

...Really?  _ Amata _ ? For fucks sake. Well if he’s that good at choosing his passwords, he’d probably be the type to use the same one for everything. I power cycle the mainframe a second time and let it boot normally so I’m greeted with the password prompt once more.

And it works. 

What an idiot.

A short list of menus come up on the display:

> > View Security Dossiers
> 
> > View Scouting Reports
> 
> > Vault-Tec Instructions
> 
> > Open Overseer’s Tunnel

That last one is what I’m here for, but ‘scouting reports’ steals my attention for a moment. I’d been told all my life that no one has ever left the vault, so what the hell is this? Selecting it opens a new menu.

> > Report 2241-02-10
> 
> > 2241-02-10 Exhibit A
> 
> > 2241-02-10 Exhibit B
> 
> > Report 2241-06-12
> 
> > 2241-06-12 Exhibit A
> 
> > 2241-06-12 Exhibit B
> 
> > Report 2241-07-02
> 
> > Report 2241-08-01

2241? If that’s the year, that was over thirty years ago. The first report reads:

> As our tests suggested, the immediate vicinity of the vault is no longer irradiated, although the background radiation is still well above safe levels. Pockets of more intense radiation appear to still be common, and all surface water seems to be undrinkable. We will need to carry ample supplies of rad-x with us on all future surveys. But hazard suits do not seem to be necessary for general exploration.
> 
> Our old maps are largely useless. The town of Springvale is an abandoned ruin, and all pre-war roads have disappeared or are no longer passable. We encountered a group of monstrous ants which appeared to confirm Mackay’s theories of mutation due to extended exposure to radiation. We drove off the ants with gunfire and collected several specimens for study upon return to the Vault (see Exhibit A).
> 
> The good news is that human civilization still survives, despite everything! We discovered a settlement known as ‘Megaton’ nearby (see Exhibit B), whose inhabitants, although somewhat wary at first, soon welcomed us into their town. 
> 
> We spent a good deal of time in Megaton, and learned a great deal about the Capitol Wasteland (as the area around Washington D.C. is now called) from them. Megaton is a fortified outpost of “civilization” (of sorts), but it seems the giant ants are the least of the dangers of this new world. We agreed that it was prudent to return to the vault immediately to revise our survey plans in light of what we have learned. Lewis and Agnes remained in Megaton to serve as “ambassadors” and continue to collect information until we return. 
> 
> Anne Palmer, Survey Team Leader 
> 
> February 10, 2241

...

Oh my god. Palmer. That was Jonas’ last name. Could this have been...? Holy shit, we had a survey team?! Christ, this brings up more questions than it fuckin’ answers. 

> > Report 2241-06-12
> 
> The past few months have been incredibly busy. We’ve established a trade route with “caravans”, travelling merchants with different wares they sell off their “pack brahmin” (mutated, two-headed cows. Completely docile.), are in good standings with the folks in Megaton, and continue to learn more by the day. 
> 
> We discovered another settlement to the west of Megaton, though significantly smaller and struggling to maintain itself. The general theory is that it’s population is too small to self-sustain, and it will likely crumble as residents either move to Megaton or die from malnutrition. While there is no radiation in the air, we should not be so quick to dismiss ‘exposure’ as a possible leading cause of death. 
> 
> Some new life forms we’ve discovered are what the locals refer to as “bloatflies” (See Exhibit A) and “molerats” (See Exhibit B). Bloatflies warrant little concern, as one can be killed with only a .22 pistol. Molerats, however, are incredibly more vicious and aggressive. As a team we were able to dispatch one quickly enough, but in a pack it seems they would be able to overcome us quite easily. 
> 
> Despite all its dangers, I am thrilled at the possibilities and wonders the Wasteland continues to provide for us. The people are hardy and have surpassed any expectation I would have had of adapting to such a harsh environment. 
> 
> I quite look forward to further surveys. 
> 
> Anne Palmer, Survey Team Leader
> 
> June 12, 2241
> 
> ****************
> 
> >Report  2241-07-02
> 
> Lewis and Agnes have reported to me with some unfortunate news. As they discussed with their contacts our plans to venture further into the city, they were vehemently warned against doing so. 
> 
> The closer one gets to the city, the more dangerous it becomes. They talked of ‘raiders’ (gangs of thugs who pillage and loot), and even more worrisome, ‘super mutants’. Massively giant, monstrously deformed humanoids with skin ten times as thick as a brahmins, with unmatched aggression and hostility. The only ones around that had dared go into the city were equipped with layers of armor and military grade weaponry and arms, including frag grenades and assault rifles. 
> 
> It would seem that this is not a trip any of us will be prepared to make any time soon - nor might it ever be worth the risk. Perhaps we will take our endeavors further west, away from the city.
> 
> Anne Palmer, Survey Team Leader
> 
> July 2, 2241
> 
> ************
> 
> Report 2241-08-01
> 
> It is with a heavy heart I make my final report. 
> 
> Lewis Peters and Anne Palmer were killed in the line of duty earlier this week. Whilst scouting a few hours North East of Megaton, we were ambushed by a gang of raiders. We attempted to run, but they pursued. I was the only one who managed to get away. 
> 
> Someone is going to have to tell Jonas. The poor boy.
> 
> I’ve had enough. I’m going to return to the vault where I know it is safe, and if you decide to send out more teams, Overseer, on your own head be it. 
> 
> Agnes Taylor, Survey Team
> 
> August 1, 2241

I gape like a fish out of fucking water. If they blasted the door down this moment and came barreling in, I don’t think I’d move a hair. Megaton. Springvale. Raiders. Super Mutants. Molerats. Brahmin.  _ Agnes Taylor _ . She was on the survey team?! How could this have stayed a secret for so long? She never said a word...none of them did...of course, given the events of today, I shudder to think what might have happened to them if they did. But my dad, too...how many lies has he told me?

I stare into the computer screen expecting an answer. None comes. I guess if I wanna find out...

I navigate back to the main menu, highlight “Open Overseer’s Tunnel” and hit enter. Suddenly the floor begins to shake, and I wonder for a split-second if it’s going to fall from underneath me completely. Instead, and quite a bit more logically, the desk separates itself from the floor and slides backwards, revealing a staircase underneath. There’s no hesitation this time when I step forward and descend, and even the door at the bottom doesn’t bring me to a pause.

It seems all this new information has renewed my purpose. 

Pushing it open takes me into a corridor, lined with metal archways that are bathed in an ominous red light. This might as well be the Gates of Hell themselves. 

They lead me around a corner to the left, where there’s--oh,  _ shit. _

Nothing. There is  _ nothing  _ in this room. No doors, no windows, not even any shelves or storage or any kind of supplies. The word ‘no’ comes tumbling out of my mouth like a waterfall for lack of anything else to say. I flatten my palms on the walls, sliding them around haphazardly like I’ve just been blinded. There has to be  _ something _ . My breathing picks up again and I can feel myself getting dizzy, my hands starting to shake and clamour more and more desperately for a sign of  _ anything _ . 

Turning to the side, I see it. A tiny chunk of metal, wedged between two support beams and almost completely hidden from view. Seeing its two small bulbs and, more importantly, the single button in the middle, I feel so relieved I start to laugh, even as the wall panel slides out of the way. It’s not until I step over the threshold that my light smile is quickly smothered by the returning tide of ‘ _ Oh fuck this is really happening _ ’. 

Apparently this wall was a false back to a small control room, and once I step out onto the grated metal platform, there it is. Slightly to my left is the massive cog of a door that protects us all, keeps us safe from the ‘horrors of the Wastes’ and all that other tripe they spoon-fed us over the years. Guess it’s not quite as good at keeping people in as they’d hoped.

I think the passage bought me some time. For the first time today, instead of alarms and shouting and gunfire, all I hear is the whirring fans of the machinery surrounding me. It’s almost calming. 

I barely have to turn my head an inch to the right to spot the main control panel. A slab of metal on top of two metal poles, on the other side of the metal platform just beyond a small set of metal stairs. Everything in here is made of metal. Cold, hard metal wrapped around us with only enough space to breathe. But the bottom of those stairs, it ends. At the bottom of those stairs is actual uncovered Earth. I wrap my hand around the giant, throttle-shaped lever, taking a moment to steel myself against my panic, and pull.

The rumbling inside the Overseer’s office was nothing compared to this. Even above me, bits of rock and dirt shake loose from the ceiling, the ancient mechanisms behind it groaning to life for the second time today - probably more action than they’ve seen in the past century. A red light above the door flashes, and alarms shout out around me once more. 

Snatching up my bat, I make the final descent. I thought I would hesitate at the top of the stairs, but I clear them in a single jump. Watching the giant cog push outward from the cavern wall, I have to cover my ears against the screeching of poorly maintained and settled panes of metal sliding against one another. Next moment, it rolls to the side, revealing a long ascending path that leads outside, and I feel like a mouse staring into a lion’s gaping maw. 

“Stop right there!”

Shit! Without even looking over my shoulder, I leap through the Vault door. A little unceremonious, but the gunfire that clatters beneath my feet doesn’t allow for much else. I run forward, upward, onward, no thought of turning back - until I hear the screech of the Vault door once again. Looking around, even from here I can see the prongs of the door rolling back into place, and I realize - I can’t do it.

Turning my back on the sunlight, I race back down the hill. I can’t do it. I can’t go out on my own! If I can apologize, if I can turn myself in, if I can just get  _ back inside _ everything will be okay. Back inside where everything is safe, normal, boring. Everything will be forgiven, Jonas will be fine, Dad will be there and I won’t have to leave everything I’ve ever known. 

Rounds of machine gun fire from Mack reminds me what universe I’m in. I back-pedal so hard I fall to the ground, and as I look through the last few inches that remain, the last thing I see of my old home is the barrel of a gun.

There is a loud  _ BOOM  _ as the door seals shut, and plunges me into the deafening silence of Limbo. Trapped between Exile and the Unknown. I stare at the door and its faded “101” printed over the center. I stare, waiting for it to open. I blink hard, waiting to wake up in my room and to tell Amata all about this nightmare. I wait for my father’s voice to calm me, soothe me and guide me and tell me what to do. None of them come.

Not from that end. Getting to my feet, I turn my gaze upwards. There I see dust dancing in thin rays of sunshine, and it all sort of...falls into place. I had left my waking life, passed through the gates of Hell, and now wait in Purgatory for acceptance into holy Salvation. 

It glows more brilliantly by the moment, as if it’s pulling me in. But no...no, those are my own legs pushing me forward, one in front of the other, carrying me through to the afterlife. The light that spread over my face and hands as I approach have a surprising warmth to them, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The light inside the Vault had been cold and lifeless, calculated to the exact degree to promote productivity. The climate control air that was forced through the vents was dry and minimal to maintain reasonable energy consumption. But this light, washing over my hands like warm water, is soft and gentle. It soaks through my skin, down to even my very bones, and for the first time I feel almost at peace.

Up close, the door shows its age. It seems like nothing short of a miracle that it’s survived as much as it has. My heart pounds like a jackhammer in my chest as I take hold of the handle. It feels like it’s going to fall off as soon as I twist it, but it holds, and I push the door open.

“Agh! Fuck!” The same light that had been so calm and welcoming just a few seconds ago pierces my eyes like hot skewers. I try fruitlessly to block it with a raised arm, too late to shield my eyes from the initial impact. I try to will them open, but they’re not havin’ it. A little longer, and hoping it’ll help, I look straight down and am finally able to coax them open and gaze down on my own steel-toed boots.

Beneath them is dirt. Genuine dirt. Not more metal. Rocks and pebbles and specks of earth. I shuffle my toes, which make a slight crunching noise and little tiny clouds of dust swirl and disappear into the air. The weight that had been crushing me slowly since I woke up recedes a little at the sound. Bearing down, I twist my ankle side to side for another chorus of earth. After having heard clunks of rubber on metal for almost twenty years, it damn near sounds like music. 

Eventually I push my gaze upwards and blink through the intensity of the sun. In front of me, just beyond the short drop-off, is a shattered asphalt road that leads to what must be the Springvale mentioned in the reports. They weren’t kidding when they said it was a ruin. Skeletons of buildings stand side-by-side, with even slivers of paint curling away from the wood petrified, frozen. Where the walls once stood, now existed massive holes and jagged edges, floors replaced with piles of dirt and debris. Over the remaining roofs of the houses, I can see the tip of what looks like a giant, fake red rocket. Beyond that...

‘ _ The whole world _ ’. A simple phrase.  So grandiose. So omnipresent, so all-encompassing. And so horribly inadequate. Where before I could only see as far as the furthest wall, now the ground stretches so far before me that I can’t even tell where it becomes the sky. 

And then there’s a breeze.

I can do nothing but roll my eyes closed in bliss. It rolls like silk over my skin, cooling my sun-warmed face and neck. Despite having seen only pictures, immediately I visualize a grassy landscape, with bushes and flowers and trees, and a small creek winding through. It fits the scene so well I’m a little startled when I open my eyes. 

Those pictures, the creeks and trees, the brightly painted houses with lush lawns, parks and flowers, that was what had been. And this, dark, colorless, dead and buried in dust, this is what remains two-hundred years after the biggest, most devastating war in human history. A graveyard for all humanity was, and had the potential to be. 

The wind changes. Guess I should get moving. Maybe that town ‘Megaton’ is still standing. And if it is...maybe Dad would’ve had the same train of thought. It’s a lot to hope for, but...well, hope is all I’ve got right now.

As I walk along the cracked pavement, I pass by a vehicle that has probably sat in this spot for the past two centuries. I wonder who it belonged to? What they were doing when the bombs fell. Going to a relatives perhaps, to be with the ones they loved? Or maybe they had been utterly oblivious to the imminent destruction of the world, and spent their final few moments on an errand run.

Did any of them have any warning at all for what was to come?

 

I'm interrupted by a sound behind me. Music? A round metal orb bobs towards me in mid air. It's about the size of a bowling ball with wires sticking out at odd angles, blasting a peppy and triumphant horn that sounds like it’s meant to inspire pride and fervor. Just now, though, it makes me a bit skittish. I've never seen a bot like this before, and even though I don't see any kind of weapon, I raise my bat just in case.

It floats closer and closer, and continues on past me with no hesitation. I keep my bat raised and my grip tight - I guess being attacked by nearly everyone you meet in a single morning is enough to make a person a little cautious. But it don't turn around, just keeps buzzin on and playing its little trumpet. Since it ain’t comin’ after me, I keep walking.

It bobs along towards the edge of the town, and I come up on that giant red rocket, which turns out to just be the name of the gas station it stands over. Unlike the others, this building is completely boarded up from the outside. And there, against one of the legs of the giant rocket, is a rigid metal sign that reads MEGATON over an arrow pointing to the north. That trumpet gets louder, and I look forward with just enough time to duck out of the way of the bot heading back the direction we’ve just come. I stare after it, mildly curious, but continue on my own path and follow the direction of the arrow.

A small panic stirs in my chest as I start to wonder how long it will take me to get to Megaton- the reports said it was ‘nearby’, but I don’t know what ‘nearby’ is to someone who is prepared for what could be an entire day’s journey. And here’s me, with no food or water, and only a baseball bat and thin leather jacket which barely protected me  _ inside  _ the Vault. 

“Woah.” They weren’t kidding when they said ‘nearby’.

A bit further down the hill, impossible to miss, is a mass of shining silver, jutting out from the ground in an enormous circle. Inside it are outlines of buildings, carved into the ground like an insignia. They failed to mention how big it was in their report. Although, it might have only been a small settlement then. 

 

Man, I could see it was big, but coming up to the city gates still leaves me breathless. That could also be the drop in adrenaline, anxiety, panic, and having just trekked up and down a big hill. Or, y’know, all the above.

It’s just  _ huge _ . 

“ HOW. DY. PARD. NER. WEL. COME. TO. MEGA. TON .”

_ Christ _ . I nearly jump out of my skin when the Protectron standing just to the side of the gate greets me. Scares me nearly shitless when it starts talking, and the next second I’m just gawking at it. I expect some direction, or welcome speech, or anything else. But nothing happens, so I continue inside. 

The city itself is just... _ unfathomable _ from what the exterior portrayed. There’s a steep decline that overlooks the entire city, which seems to go into the ground instead of rise above it. Structures of varying sizes are constructed atop one another like a beehive, with pipes and walkways and metal beams going between them like a jagged, distorted skeleton. 

Higher up, around ground level, there’s at least a little bit of breathing room between buildings. Most of them share walls and railings, and the balconies for some double as rooftops for others. I can see about three different available paths, one more walked than others that leads down into the core of the city. Rather than winding or curving around buildings, though, the buildings sort of impose themselves onto it, making awkward turns and narrow spaces. 

Despite being on a hill, I can barely see a few meters down as the path juts off to the left. A few people I know might look at this city and see a junkyard, just a scrap heap barely held together, but to me...man, it’s just beautiful.

The Vault had been constructed as a safehouse against the Great War hundreds of years ago - for those who could afford it, anyway. Professionally designed safety against the harshness of the world, a guarantee of a quiet, complacent life for the right price. Everything considered, calculated, regulated down to the last drop of water or breath of air. I mean, sure, it gave me a good life as surely as it did many families before me, but, I dunno. There’s this mentality down there that, simply being alive is all that counted. That as long as you can walk upright, do your work and procreate to bring about the next generation, that was enough. That’s what it meant to live.

But these people... They are the ones who have endured, built up, came together and created a community. To say they were ‘hardy’ scarcely did them justice. These residents of the city made of steel and sweat, they had truly  _ survived _ .

I don’t even know where to begin. Am I just gonna start knocking on doors? As I walk down the what I guess is the main path, I look all around for any sign of..anything. A hotel, maybe, somewhere my father might’ve stopped inside. Someone on their balcony watches me as I walk, taking a low drag of their cigarette and looking at me like I’m a fly crawling along the railing. 

“Ain’t seen you before.”

Wuh! I spin my head around so fast I think I got whiplash, and I’ve already got my bat ready to swing. 

An older blonde woman with a harsh jawline, soft eyes and a worn trenchcoat is leaning against a pillar that holds up the walkway to the houses above. She casually pushes herself up in a way that reminds me of Butch when he was lookin’ for trouble. “Lot’s’ve faces in this town, to be fair. But ain’t a one of ‘em look as confused an’ lost’s you.” Her voice is a bit dry, like someone who spent the day yelling at rowdy children. “Where you blow in from?” She asks.

“The...Vault 101.”

“Oh, no shit?” She’s genuinely surprised until she looks down and catches the yellow stripe on my jumpsuit pant legs. “Well I’ll be damned...” she just nods and stares for a minute. “Well! Welcome to Megaton! Name’s Susan McKellin, Deputy to Sheriff Lucas Simms.” She offers me her hand - got a firm handshake. “He’s off just at the mo’ attending to some’v the local color. If anyone gives you - or anyone else - trouble, or if there’s somethin’ you need, come see me, kay?” 

I’m a bit struck dumb at first, so when she turns to leave I blurt out a completely undignified noise. Clearin’ my throat of it, I give speech another shot. “ Ah, actually, if - was- did--” Fuck, deep breath. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, older, full beard, side--” But the skewed expression of pity on Susan’s face tells me all I need to know. 

“Sorry hon. Like I said, s’a lot’v faces roll through here. Y’r best shot is prob’ly at Moriarty’s, s’a Saloon on the upper ring - “ She jabs a thumb over her shoulder in a completely unhelpful direction. “Opposite side’ve the gate, just up past the big supply shop with the rocket sign.”

Another sigh. “Alright, thanks.” This time, she stops me from walking off.

“Wait a minute - forgot y’r new. Y’wanna stick t’the top much’s y’can. If y’didn’t notice, towns built in the walls of a giant crater, made by an atomic bomb that managed to not explode. It ain’t as tight and crowded up here, ‘cause the closer you get to the bomb, th’more radiation there is. Some’ll try’n buy their way to the top with caps or favors to Simms, y’know, but people’ll take what they can get. Better’n bein’ outside the walls on their own.”

The fuck? Wait. The  **_fuck!?_ ** “B... _ bomb _ ?” 

She nods like we’re talking about the fucking weather or somethin’. 

“Yes ma’am. Big ol atom bomb, sittin’ in the center of town like a monument.”

“And it...gives off radiation?” 

Nod.

“...Is it  _ active _ ?”

Nod.

I’m waiting for the punchline, or for her to laugh and say ‘got ya! works every time!’ But she doesn’t. She’s just watching me staring at her and waiting. I think she’s serious. “Like, an actual bomb.”

“Yes.”

I look down the path, then up and around at the structure of the city. It makes - well,  _ some  _ sense. But only some. “You gotta be shitting me.”

She laughs. “Nope, honest to Atom, it’s true.”

...

Jesus Christ. They did not fucking mention that in the report. Why the fuck didn’t they mention that in the report?!

“And” I continue, trying to remember every weird ass thing she’s throwing at me. “...people’ll buy their way up with...”

“Caps, like, bottle caps. S’what we use for currency out here. Pre-war paper money ain’t worth the dirt it’s covered in these days.”

“Uh huh...” Makes about as much sense as everything else I’ve heard today. So if I can just accept that currency is now trash and this entire city is built around a  _ literal time bomb _ , that just leaves one thing. “Okay, so, if the Saloon is across from the gate - “ I point with one hand, for my own sake really, trying to keep track of all this. “But on the other side - And I wanna stay towards the top, then...” I start looking around for any kind of route that might get me there.

Undoubtedly seeing my blatant confusion, Susan steps a little closer to guide my eyes with her fingers. “Go up this ramp here, follow the curve that goes up over that building, cross over to the supply shop with the rocket sign, take the next staircase up and keep goin’ left. If y’start comin down again, you’ve gone too far, but you won’t miss it.” 

Jesus. How do people get used to this? “Th-thanks.” I try to sound confident. Dunno if I do, but we nod in farewell and I start up the ramp. This time I really do gotta focus; if I let myself get distracted, I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get lost and skewered by a Minotaur. 

Alright, follow the ramp, continue over the building - I can already see the supply shop. Hell, I could see the supply shop from the fuckin’ gate. Hard to miss, seeing as the entire top half of it is the front end of a plane. 

Might come back to it if I get the chance. For now, though, onward and upward. Coming up the last staircase, Susan was right. It’d be impossible to miss the saloon. It’s nearly twice the size as any building around it, with very clearly two stories to its very own. That aside, it’s what’s  _ beside  _ the door that interests me the most. Guy standing there, shaved head and Van Dyke facial hair. He’s wearing a lot of leather and has got a big rifle slung over his shoulder. What disturbs me most, though, is the way he’s looking at me, just staring at me like he’s an open bear trap waiting for my ankle. 

I don’t know if I’m just invoking the instincts I got from years of living with Butch, if I’m being brave, or if I’m just being goddamn stupid, but I keep my gaze on him and he keeps his gaze, too. If he decides to lash out I’m probably done for. But he doesn’t, just watches me til I go inside. 

The air is so thick with cigarette and cigar smoke that I can barely take a breath walking in the door. Lot of people are starting’ to turn and stare, and trying’ to look like I belong, I made for the bar. 

Didn’t see them at first, but someone’s hunched over behind the bar, back to the door. 

“Excuse me? Wah!” I try not to scream at the sight of him, but some of it slips out anyway. 

“ Whaddyou want, smoothskin ?” His voice sounds like wet gravel. “ Drink? Food? A room?”  He urges, making me realize I haven’t replied yet. 

“N-no! I, sorry, I’m uh...looking for someone. Older guy, tall, full beard...” Glancing around, I add a more defining feature; “Combed hair.” 

After a moment of thought, his pale eyes widen. “ Y’know, I think someone like that did pass through - ” My heart skips so bad I think it stopped completely, but then he just goes quiet, looking like he just insulted my dead mother. “ But, uh, y’really ought to ask Moriarty. He don’ like me gettin’ friendly with customers .” He tries to turn away.

“Wait! So, he did come through here? You actually saw him? Do you know where - “

“ Sorry, kid, but unless you’re gonna order somethin, I can’t help you. Moriarty’ll have my head anyway for idlin’ when there’s work t’ - ah! ” 

He’s cut off by a smack across the back of the head, given by who I can only assume to be none other than Moriarty. His slicked back silver hair, matching wispy beard and a harsh, angular face gives him the look of an old lion. He’s bulky, though. Lots of muscle for an old man. Clearly gives the impression of ‘not-to-be-fucked-with’.

“Shut et! Whot’d I tell you about maken’ smoll talk with’e customers? Get yer ugly mug outta soite afore you make someone sick.” He speaks with some weird accent that I can’t place. The zombie guy shrinks away like a dog, poor guy.

The Lion and I turn to face one another in the same moment. I wanna say _something_ , tell him off for being a fucking dick, but when I look in his face I see the same sort’ve presence as I did in the man outside. Something dark and dangerous, but this one - he’s less of a bear trap, and more like an actual bear. Proactive in his aggression - he’s not gonna wait for me to make a wrong move before he makes his. 

So, for now at least, I still my tongue. 

“I take it  _ you’re  _ Moriarty?”

“Gelty as charged! Colin Moriarty, at yer sarvice. Apologies for the Ghoul, ‘e didn’ scare ye too badly, did ‘e luv?”

_ Ghoul _ ? “No, actually, he was quite nice.” Moriarty’s still smiling, but his eyes flicker. Gotta watch my tone. Behind him, the bar man glances at me over his shoulder, but keeps his head down. I follow his lead. “Told me you’d be the one to come to for information.” His expression shifts again, but I can’t read it. “I’m looking for someone. Tall, older, full beard, salt-and-pepper hair, combed with a part - “ His eyes widen too, but more than the barman's. His eyes widened beyond simple memory.

“My god...” He’s all breathy all of a sudden. “It es you, isn’ it? No doubt on the hunt fer yer own old man?” Now how did he - “Spittin’ image of’m too, dunno how I didn’ see et sooner. Been a long time, ked.”

...What. “...What?” 

“No, I s’pose you wouldn’t remember, would ye? Aye, you were just a wee li’le thing back then. All swaddled up in nary a rag when yer father brought you in, he and his Brotherhood friend.”

That throws me through a loop. “Wait, he... _ what _ ?”

“Not many safe pleces out in th’Wasteland, ‘specially fer a new father all on’is own.”

Holy shit. What the...holy  _ shit _ . I’m struck completely dumb. Those reports on the terminal...the vault used to be open. Not long ago, either. And from what this guy is saying, it sounds like...“An’ now ye’re all grown op, and wonderin’ where e’s got to, ey?”

Right. Ever the businessman, ey, Moriarty? I have to shake my head to be free of the momentary shock. “And you know where.” 

He smiles. “Yer a smart ked. I’ll be straight wit’ye; yer dad wos here, an now’es not. An’ yes, I know where’e went. But whot yer askin’ fer is information, an information is a commodity. Seein’ as we got history in some way or another, I’ll tell ye where yer ol man went for, oh, one hundred caps.”

My jaw actually drops. “One  _ hundred  _ caps? You’re out of it, Moriarty, I don’t have that much!” 

He smiles. Shit. “Alroight then, maybe we can help each’ot’er out. Fer old toimes sake.” 

For now I can only glare. This whole encounter has gone from bad to worse, and I feel like I am vastly approaching the limit of how far I am willing to go. Sensing - or perhaps  _ seeing  _ the blatant mistrust on my face, he adds “You need the caps, an I’m given ye a way t’get ‘em. Everybody wins.”

“So you want me to do your dirty work.” I snap, and his eyes flicker the same way they did when I challenged him about his bar keeper. Careful, Blake. 

“Never said a ting about darty werk. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yers. Simple as that. Onless y’want’a give it a go on yer own.” 

_ Sigh _ . Fuck. No, I really don’t. Not if I don’t have to. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Li’le bit ago, this junkie bitch named Silver came t’me with a deal, says she cud start funnelen’ jet and psycho for a decent price ef I cud get th’caps t’er up front. Course, instead she just fockin’ scrammed with the loot an hoarded all the good t’herself. Last I heard, she’s got herself holed up in Springvale. Get the caps she owes me, an we’ve go’a deal.”

There’s something’ about all this that stinks like a backed up toilet, but until I figure it out, I gotta play along. My patience reaching its limit, I push off from the bar and head towards the door. How long am I going to spend on this? How much does he really know? If after all this, all I get is some vague bullshit like ‘he went East’ I’m going to be very displeased.

Passing through the gates, crossing the valley and coming up on the hill again, it doesn’t feel right. It feels... _ backwards _ . Since my feet hit the floor this morning I’ve had to keep moving, pushing forward, never looking back, pressing ahead. Crossing back over my own footprints seems counter intuitive. I guess it’s the best direction I’ve had - which is to say, any - but I have no idea how long this will take, where my dad is, where he might go in the meantime. Assuming he doesn’t get maimed, disfigured, captured, murde--Oh Christ. Okay, I need to just not ever think about that ever again. 

 

Now I’m back in Springvale,I have no idea where to go. It helps that nearly every house is just bare bones - pretty easy to see the lack of an inhabitant in each one. Shops are all boarded up from the outside, so unless someone got really clever with their camouflage, no way in or out.

With no hint, lead, or any other idea what to do, I walk. I pick a road, one that’s not leading to the Vault or Megaton, and walk. I guess there’s no real need to stay on the sidewalk, but I do anyway, taking up again the game of imagining what it had all been like before. Cars rolling down the street. People in their lawns, tending to gardens, maybe even walking where I do now. Maybe with a stroller. Maybe with a dog. Kids playing with balls and little wooden toys in the driveways and streets. It’s a stupid day dream, but I don’t know. It makes me happy. 

And y’know, it feels nice to be able to just walk. To not have to sprint or hide or go here or there. To go at my own pace. To relax, even for a few moments, and relish in the fact that I’m not fucking running from something. I need to stop running. Collect myself and try to stay calm. Rushing blindly ahead only works for so long anyway. So, for now, I’ll allow myself this. This span of bliss of being able to wander without any immediate stress or worry or fear. Seems like it’s been way more than a day since I’ve been able to do that.

At the same time, what am I gonna do if I can’t find her? Am I gonna stay out here all day wandering around like a moron? My stomach has started to gurgle, but even if I went back to Megaton now, I don’t have any, what’s it, ‘caps’ to buy food with. Maybe it’d be worth seeing if I can pry some boards off one of the store doors.

Wasn’t there a convenience store by that giant red rocket? It’s easy enough to spot, so I start walking towards it like a beacon. But then something else catches my attention.

Halfway down the street is a house that isn’t missing its walls. There are no gaping holes or shattered windows, and what’s even more interesting, is there’s a sandbag wall instead of a front porch. Kinda stands out a bit from the demolition around it. 

My relaxed gate is abandoned as I bee-line to the door. I’ve got my hand on the knob when I realize - Blake, this is (potentially) the home of a (potential) drug fiend who has had a (likely) powerful man on their heels for any extent of time. Maybe it would bode well to exercise some social fucking graces. So instead of just busting in, I knock.

No answer.

I try again, harder.

No answer. One more time, quite unmistakeable.

Still nothing.

Alright, shit, maybe it has been abandoned. The doors not locked...surely if someone were in hiding from a pseudo mob-boss, they would take at least that precaution. Even if there’s no one inside, maybe they left behind a can of beans, or  _ something  _ to tide me over for a little while. 

The door opens into a kitchen area, but before I can take a single step for the fridge, movement comes around the corner from the other room. I can’t even take in the sight of the person as a silver flash, ending in a knife point, is thrust into my face. 

“Who the  _ hell  _ are you?!”

My hands go up in immediate surrender, and my suddenly wide eyes run down the handle, along the arm holding it, over the pink sweater and into the crazed face of a bedraggled blonde woman. 

“I - I-” 

“Get out! Out!”

“S-Silver? You - are you Silver?” Oh my God please don’t slit my throat holy shit.

Her eyes widen, and if it were even possible, she grows paler.

“Moriarty sent you, didn’t he? Didn’t he?!” She jabs the blade even closer and I step backwards into the door until I’m pressed flat against it..

“W-well, kind of, he said you owe him caps, but-”

“Liar!” She nearly screams.  _ Oh my god please don’t let me be killed by a fucking druggie _ . “Liar! Those caps are mine, every last one!”

“I know! I believe you! Fuck Moriarty! I’m not here for him, I’m here for  _ me _ , okay? Can you please - “ Unable to back up any further, I have to turn my head to gain more distance from the knife. “Just talk to me, okay? I don’t want to fight you. I just want to see if we can help  _ each other _ .”

She holds her position for a few seconds before  _ finally  _ lowering the knife. THANK GOD. I breathe a sigh of relief, lowering my arms but staying by the door. Now that I can see straight, I get a good look at her. Tangled hair, pale skin, tattered clothes and  _ skinny _ . So skinny, I might not have needed worry about the knife after all. And her eyes are just...dull. Faded. Like a vibrant cloth that’s had all the color washed out, but there’s something else, too. There’s a look in her eyes that I actually recognize. It was the same look I’d woken up to when Amata came running into my apartment. It was the same look Butch had worn when he begged me for help. It was probably the same look I’d had plastered on my face the entire morning; a look of terrified desperation. 

“Listen, I only just met the guy and I can already tell he’s some kind of bastard or another. Said you stole his money and ran off with it, but that ain’t really the case, is it?” 

Her gaze lowers for the first time, and she even turns away from me to lean against the doorframe. “No, it’s not. Y’wanna know what  _ really  _ happened? I used to work for him, turnin tricks for guys and gettin’ shit pay for it.  _ And  _ he’d charge me for rent and food on top of it! And I just got sick of it. Figured it couldn’t be any worse tryin’ t’make it on my own, so I told him I was leavin. Was gonna take my fair earned share and leave. Had to fuckin’ suck him off t’seal the deal, but I shoulda known better than t’trust that limey bastard. Now he’s callin me a junkie and a liar and a thief, sendin his goons after me t’take back what he thinks is his...” She sighs, and runs her free hand through her mussed hair. “I’d been doin’ alright at avoiding ‘em so far, but, I guess the gig is up.” 

She shoots me a glare that almost makes my heart stop. How badly did I just mess things up for her? What kind of person am I to still fuckin’ be here after she tells me that? Of my own fucking volition, I’d swear not having seen hide nor hair of her and be on my way. But Moriarty has something I need, and I don’t have what he’s asking for to get it. 

This time I run my hand over my hair, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to think of some solution that works out for both of us...but it’s not even that selfless. I’m just trying to think of a way to deal with my fucking guilt. 

“Look, Silver, I didn’t come here to...to rat you out or anything. As far as I’m concerned this is just another abandoned, ramshackle hut.” She raises her eyebrow, waiting for the - “But...I’m - I’m trying to find someone. Very important to me, and Moriarty knows where he is, or at least, has information that can help me find him, but he won’t give me anything unless I get him the caps he thinks are his.” I squeeze my own fingers, heart racing. I probably don’t even realize what I’m asking of her. “If I had any money at all, I wouldn’t be here. And I won’t tell him I got ‘em from you. I tell him you’re gone, or that you’re dead, or anything that you want, but I just, I can’t go back empty handed.” 

Her dull, nearly colorless eyes stare into mine, long and hard. They’re focused and intent, not disconnected like she’s deciding whether or not she believes me, but whether or not I’m worth the risk.

She sighs. Verdicts in. 

“Fine.” 

I nearly fall to my knees with relief. She goes into the other room, and I stay right by the door. I’m intruding enough as it is. There’s a bit of rustling, something opening and closing, and she comes back holding a small square lockbox and thrusts it into my arms.

“Here. This is everything I have. I’m sick of hiding out here like a goddamn dog. Now please, just...leave me alone.”

I...I can’t even move. This box is heavy, it must be  _ filled  _ with caps. I gape, just staring at her before sound comes out of my throat again. “I..th-thank you. Really, I - “ She gives me a look that says she fuckin meant it when she said leave her alone. I walk outside the door, stand there for a few moments, walk down the street, and stare down at the box in my hand.

There’s no way this is just one hundred caps.

I’m not disappointed. Inside, a small rag of a purse sprawls over a pile, full to the top of loose caps collected by the singles over God knows how long. I trace my fingers over the surface, some of them tinkling against the others.

I know...I know it was wrong of me to ask. To take all that she had, as if I deserved it more than she does. She, who had to spend a countless night with any quality of stranger just to keep food in her belly. She who had risked life and livelihood to continue on with whatever she could carry as she ran. 

God, I really am despicable. 

I can’t bring myself to carry this box another step. Not in this direction. Kneeling down there on the sidewalk, I count out the hundred I owe to Moriarty, and an extra hundred for myself, and collect them inside the bag. I hate to be so selfish, but I’ll need a least a little leftover. Even if just for a room, or at least a scrap of something to eat. The rest...the rest I set down, just outside her door, and give it a few hard knocks.

And with that done, I make haste down the block, up the hill, and back to Megaton.

 

I find my way to Moriarty’s a lot faster this time. Goin through the door with a purpose, no one really notices me now. I suppose it was looking sheepish and incapable that stands out the most in this crowd. Duly noted.

Moriarty is standing behind the bar, waiting for me. “Here.” I drop the bag, heavy and loud, on the counter. Now we both have the bar’s attention. “I did your stupid fuckin’ favor.”

“Took care of our lost little lamb, did ye?” 

I do nothing to hide my glare this time. “Whatever. I did what you asked, now tell me what I want to know.  **_Now._ ** ” 

Shit. Mistake. 

He lashes out like a fuckin’ viper and grabs my hand, nearly crushing it and making me bend forward to try and fight the grasp.

“Now listen here. Ye’re in  _ my  _ territory now, pup. This’s  _ my  _ joint, an’ despite whot that  _ pissant  _ sheriff might loike t’think,  _ my town. _ An’  _ you,  _ little miss, do  **not** make demands in  _ my town _ . This is yer  **only** warning.” 

At the slightest relief in pressure, I wrench my hand back into my own control, holding it carefully in my other. I’m not so shaken to go bolting for the door, but...message fucking received. Without trying to push my luck further, I continue staring him down.

“Lucky fer you, pup, I’m a kind an’ forgivin’ sort, so instead of breakin’ yer arm, I’ll uphold my part’ve th’bargain.”

I don’t think for a second he chose to do so on account of my mean muggin’ but, I’m glad for it all the same.

“Aye, yer pap came through. Didn’ stay long, tho, sed he had important business somewhere in the city, somethin’ about Galaxy News Radio. That’d probably be your be yer best place t’start lookin’."

Oh, fuck. The city? The city that’s supposed to be inhabited by super mutations or whatever they were called? I’m torn between the dread of that thought and fucking hating Moriarty for giving me only that much. I mean, I know it’s more direction than I’ve had all day, but, still doesn’t seem like enough after what I had to do. 

Before I DO get my arm broken, I turn toward the door. In case I’d forgotten in the past three fucking seconds that he’s the boss around here, Moriarty calls out after me, "Thanks fer the caps!"

"I hope you fuckin choke on em!" I'd only meant to think it, but as I throw the door open, it comes out of my lips before I even realize it's my own voice. The door closes behind me before he gets a chance to reply, so, I guess I got the last word after all.

Goddamnit. I fucking hate this place. I want to go home. I never thought I would miss the vault as much as I do now. I miss it so badly I don’t know if I want to scream or cry. Or both. Or maybe I just miss my dad. If I could just find him, maybe everything would be okay. I don’t know what would happen then, but, whatever it was, I could handle it. We could handle it. Together.

I grasp the railing in front of me, trying to fight off how badly I’m shaking. Right now I want nothing more than to crawl into the deepest darkest corner I can find and just...stop existing. Be done with everything. But I don’t have that option. What I do have is a choice. I can either be molded by this world, or killed by it. Killed is by far the more likely, but I’m damn sure not going down without a fight.

 

And for that I’m gonna need a gun.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! I already have the first few chapters done, so I'm gonna post up to Chapter 3 so we at least get through the plot-line stuff everyone already knows ^^ From there I hope to maintain a once-a-month basis, but we'll see how that works out XD


	3. Chapter 3

Standing outside Craterside Supply, it already feels more welcoming and endearing than Moriarty’s imposing display. The hand-painted name over the door brings it all together. Going inside, though, it’s...completely empty.

There’s a staircase to my left, a counter to my right, shelves full of random items behind that, and in front of me are two desks. But besides that, it’s totally quiet.

“...Hello? WAH!” 

The entire building rumbles from the force of the explosion that bursts from a doorway by the computer console. Jesus Christ, it feels like the whole building is gonna come down. Which, given the neighborhood, means an entire chunk of the city collapsing in a massive landslide. 

“Sorry!” A chiming voice precedes a pixie-faced, auburn hair woman who waves billows of smoke away with her hand. “Don’t mind the smoke! It’s perfectly safe to breathe!....I think...” I don’t think I was supposed to hear that last part. “What can I help you with?” She moves behind the counter and rests her chin on her open palms, propped up by her elbows and smiling away like it makes the world go round. 

“I, well, I need to get into the city, but I -”

“Oh my god!!” She shrieks, making me nearly jump out of my skin. “You’re going into the Wastes?!”

“Yes,” I say firmly, but she cuts me off before I can continue.

“Can you do me a HUGE favor? Pretty pretty please?!” Christ, only if it’s helping you switch to decaf. Sorry lady, but I’m all out of favors today.

“Look, if someone owes you money or-”

“No, silly, of course not! That’s what he’s for!” 

Who - what the hell?! This place was  _ empty  _ five seconds ago and suddenly there’s this phantom of a dude who kind of reminds me of the guy I’d seen outside Moriarty’s. He’s quiet and fierce looking, with another huge rifle over his shoulder. Well, shit. Note to self: Don’t ever owe the Crazy Chick at Craterside Supply  _ anything _ .

“I’ve got a really special project I’ve been working on that I need some help with!” She starts rummaging for something while I try to stoke what little patience I have left. When she turns back to me, she’s got this huge folder that’s been duct taped on the spine, repeatedly, with countless, multi-colored tabs sticking out in every possible space. “It’s a dangerous world out there, right? I’ve been trying to put together a sort of  _ guide _ for people to go by, who might not have that  _ natural advantage _ that some others do. But the problem is, it’s nearly impossible for me to do any of the research myself since I have to be here at the shop all the time! I’ve been DYING for an assistant that can do my field work for me!” 

What’s it say about me that it’s actually kind of tempting? I don’t know shit about this environment, and if there is an easy way to learn, seems like this’d be the way.

“I...I dunno, I-”

“I’ll pay you!” She looks like she’s about to climb over the fuckin counter. “You can keep most of whatever you find unless I need it; ammo, weapons, meds, chems, and I’ll pay you in caps on top of it! It’s just a series of small tasks, you’ll make hand over fist in-”

“Alright! Jesus! I’ll help you  _ for now _ , okay?”

“Great!” She flips the binder open and I make no effort to hide my own exasperation, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger while she rambles on for a moment. I’m sure what she has to say has some relevance of importance, but shit is just not going my way right now and I need a moment of fucking zen.

“Does that sound like something you think you could handle?”

She must be used to the heavy-lidded, dull-eyed look I’m givin her cause she just stares back at me like an overexcited puppy. 

“Ahh...can you go over it again? Briefly?” I add.

She smiles. “Sure, but try to pay attention this time, silly! The first thing I want to focus on is where someone can find food in the Wasteland. There’s a Super Duper Mart nearby, and all I need you to do is go through there real quick and see if a place like that would have anything worth salvaging. If all you find is food, that’s great, but keep your eye out for medicine, too! There’s a lot of abandoned shops all over the Wasteland, maybe they’ll still have some valuable resources after all this time!”

Scope an abandoned store for food. Easy enough. But it didn’t take an hour of being out of the vault for a knife to be shoved in my face, so I’m thinking maybe something a bit more dependable than a baseball bat is due.

“Got any guns for sale?” 

“Boy, do I! What’cha lookin’ for?” 

“Whatever eighty caps will buy me.” I want to save just a little bit for food. I have no idea what kind of system they have out here, but when I say eighty, her smile falters. Aw shit.

“Ahh...well....”

Now she’s avoiding eye contact, but before I can make my case, she folds. “I suppose...Well, I have this one -” she places a small six-shooter and a single box of ammo on the countertop. Looks a little beat up, but no rust at least. “It’s a .32, and  _ normally _ I pitch for closer to a hundred, but!” Her voice bounces back to it’s usual chipper tone. “As an act of good faith and premature thanks, I suppose I can take the eighty.” 

Far be it for me to press the only good luck I’ve had today. Putting the caps on the counter, I hold the gun in my hand. It’s heavier than I expected for such a little thing. Hope it’ll hold up.

“So, where’s this super mart?” I raise my pip-boy, hoping for more specific directions than just ‘east’. 

“Oooh, you have a pip-boy?! Is that the 3000 model?” 

Now that’s interesting. I didn’t think anyone out here would recognize a piece of Vault Tec. “Uh, yeah actually.”

“A-Series, right?”

Damn, this girl knows her gadgets. “Yeah, it is.”

“I thought so! They’re a bit clunky but definitely the most durable! Good choice!” 

I remember Stanley saying something similar when he gave it to me. I hope he’s doing alright...She actually gets a smile out of me with that, and some very mild interest.

“Well, in that case -” she reaches out and just grabs the pip-boy, jerking it along with my arm towards her across the counter. “It should be...right abooouut, there.” She programs the location into the map like it was dashin an X on paper. 

“Oh, that’s not far at all.” It looks to be about the same distance as Springvale, maybe a little farther. That’s a relief, at least it’s not gonna take me too far out of my way.

“Nope, not at all! Nice little stroll, in and out, easy as lyin!” 

Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Looking back at the map, I catch a glimpse of the time. Holy shit, it’s only just past three? My mind backtracks over the events of the morning, thinking that the clock must be frozen. It feels like it’s been days since I left the Vault when it was only hours ago. It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. I think I’m gonna be sick.

“Uh, I think I’ll go tomorrow though. I need to...get some food, find somewhere to sleep...” I say, more to myself than to Moira. Her tone shifts, though. I must look pitiful.

“There’s plenty of places to get some food all over the city. Couple places to rent rooms, or the common house if you’re feeling, uh...frugal.” 

“Common house?” She smiles brightly, tells me the directions to the free-for-all common house and washrooms, tells me the earlier I go the better because the queues fill up quick after sundown. Boy, she wasn’t kidding. After stopping by a small booth selling chunks of meat for a quick dinner - only five caps, that’s a relief - I make my way to the community bathrooms. Only by the time I get there, the line already reaches past the building. Fuck that. Turning on my heel, I head the other direction and, after getting lost a few times, finally arrive at the common house. 

When I go inside, it’s even worse than I thought. There’s mattresses - thin, dirty and stained - lining the floors with just enough space to move between, or set down a small collection of items. All of them full. Some people are already asleep, a few others look up at the sound of my entrance. Even fewer of them linger, the rest just go back to sewing, or eating, or writing, or whatever had previously occupied their attention. I go upstairs to the second floor to find almost exactly the same thing, and continue up to the third. 

There’s fewer mattresses up here, and whatever space remains is used for...storage, I guess. I use the term lightly. There’s rows of metal shelves, but they’re all empty. My first guess is that they were occupying the space downstairs, and were shoved up here to be dealt with ‘later’, and forgotten. And, once again, every bed is taken. But there is one more staircase to my right, though there are no lights pouring down from above. I go up anyway.

There on the top floor is more of what’s below - desks, chairs, overturned tables, dismantled bits of furniture jumbled against the back wall however they chose to lay. Among them, a single, rotten, sunken in couch. I suppose that will have to do, though when I sit down on it I do genuinely wonder if the floor might be more comfortable. 

I zip off my jacket to use as a blanket, and it’s only when I start wriggling around to get comfortable that I’m jabbed by something in the pocket of my jumpsuit. Pulling it out, I gasp. I can’t believe I forgot about it. The holotape from Jonas. Haphazardly, I push it into the player on the top of the pipboy and slam the button. 

“Hold on, Jonas, I need to record this first.”

It’s Dad. 

“I...I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong, and there's really no telling how the Overseer will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe some day, things will change and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going.” 

As the recorder plays, I can do nothing to stop my eyes from filling with tears. Jonas’ voice plays next, and it feels like my heart drops out completely. I can’t believe they killed him. I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe I just  _ left _ him there. After everything he’s done for me...

“Don't mean to rush you, love, but I'd feel better if we got this over with.”

“Okay, go ahead. Goodbye. I love you.”

Completely alone, I whimper “I love you too, Daddy.” Tuck my legs tight into my chest, bury my face into the top of my knees, and weep.

  
  


Ugh, my... _ everything _ . 

My head throbs and there’s parts of my neck and back that I’m pretty sure have got bits of glass skewered into them. Slowly, I open my eyes and find myself in the same dingy, cramped room I remember from the night before.

So it wasn’t all a nightmare. Damn.

I try to stretch, and it just makes everything hurt even more. Cracking my back helps relieve some of the pressure, but that vice is back on my head, screwed tighter than it was before. Once I start moving around a bit, I feel my stomach ache for food and my throat, for water. My pip-boy says it’s just a little past ten AM. Think I’ll grab some breakfast and start heading out towards the Super Duper Mart. Easy enough run, check for food, medicine, and then get paid, maybe sleep in an actual bed tonight. 

Downstairs isn’t nearly as empty as I was expecting. There’s some empty spots now, sure, but there’s a lot more people still curled up on their little patch of home. I try to walk a little lighter going through the other floors. Stepping outside, the first thing that hits me is the smell of cooking food. 

I consider showering, but just as before, the line is too long to be worth it. I just grab a strange looking and stranger tasting fruit for breakfast, and manage to keep the whole thing down. After buying a canteen of water, I’m completely out of caps and on my way to the Super Duper Mart.

After about half an hour of dirt and rocks, it’s pretty easy to spot the massive building and parking lot an entire hill away. There’s graffiti all over it. Names sprayed over other names, poorly worded insults, stylistic words I can’t read, and of course, phalluses just  _ everywhere _ . Some things never change. 

My hand keeps brushing the grip of the pistol. I don’t think I’ll need it, it’s just kind of comforting to know it’s there. Radroaches I’m not worried about. Molerats...We never had molerats, not while I was in the vault. There was an infestation a shortly after I was born. That, and the report on the Overseer’s terminal are the only things I’ve ever heard about them. And from those, as long as there’s not a whole pack, I should be able to handle them alright.

I think.

Damnit. There’s a chain link fence that wraps around the parking lot. Figure I’ll just follow the sidewalk around til there’s an opening. 

**_BLAM! BLAM!_ **

SHIT! 

A white hot pain tears over my left arm, and I dive behind the only thing that gives barely a scrap of cover - an old, fucking broken bus stop. Bullets clatter into what little metal is there and I don’t know how much longer it will hold out.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck. There weren’t supposed to be bullets. Why are there bullets?!

“Come on out, asshole!” A deep voice calls out far too close.

Oh Christ, I’m gonna die. Oh God. Out in the wastes curled up behind a bus stop and no one will ever even know. Why’d I ever think I could last out here more than five minutes?! I can barely hold this piece of shit six shooter I’m shaking so badly.

“Come out, come out, wherever you aaaare~” 

Closer.

Fuck. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die! Fuck! What should I do? Should I try to shoot back?! If I move an inch he’s gonna blow my head off oh god I’m gonna fucking die out he-- What...the hell is that music?!

One of the round, floating robots I’d seen earlier whizzes by, playing a different tune than I heard before. The voice starts shouting again, this time in cries of pain. I hear more gunfire and...something else. Peeking up over the bench, all I see at first is a flash of bright red light, and another, and he goes down in a gurgled groan of shouts and swears.

Note to self: Flying robots also means lasers. Not sure how I failed to make that conclusion myself. 

I stare at the scene from behind this shot-to-shit swiss-cheese bench. He ain’t movin. I mean, he’s twitching a bit. Spasms being sent from the brain, reactions his body got the commands for but didn’t get to carry out. Residual energy from the thermoelectric waves bouncing through his body. Third degree burns around immediate impact area. 

The robot changes its beat again, playing a victorious trumpet before buzzing back onto its original path. For several long minutes, I just sit there. Is that it? Was there only one? Are there more waiting in hiding? Where’s the robot going?! He’s still not moving. Dead. Definitely dead. That’s...I guess that’s good. I’ve seen dead bodies before but. Shit. None that were trying to kill me seconds ago.

After a while, my heart rate slows as I gradually calm down. Soon after, the adrenaline pumps out of my system which means I’m harshly reminded of the tear in my arm. Pain, blinding pain like I’ve never experienced keeps me on my knees.

Why did I  _ ever _ think I could do this?

It’s a scratch. Barely a surface wound. A graze, nothing serious by any means. But it  _ hurts _ . I can’t even move it to get the stimpack from my pocket. Despite all the reasons not to, I set the gun down in favor of it. Guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind needles.

I stare at the thing. A decently sized syringe, filled with a clear liquid. Fibrin to clot the blood, polysaccharide to expedite tissue growth, and good old fashioned isobutylphenyl propanoic acid for killing pain. Better than the alternative, I guess. 

Inhale. Stab. Inject. Exha-aaauugh! Pain killers shouldn’t be painful too, goddamnit. Once more, inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. It starts working really quickly. I don’t feel any continuing warmth pouring down my arm. Few seconds later, the ache is gone, and I can start moving the arm again like normal. 

Well, that was...awful. That whole thing was awful. Everything about it, out here, all of it is awful. Finally I stand, initially to go straight back to Megaton. But before I take the first step, I know I can’t. I have only the vaguest idea of where my dad might be, and sure as I almost just fuckin’ died, it’s not going to be a walk in the park to find him. If I give up on this...

I trade the empty syringe for the fully loaded gun, feeling it’s weight for the second time. I got six bullets in here, and a handful more in my pocket. Can’t let a single one of ‘em go to waste. So, good thing I got absolutely no experience shooting a fucking revolver. 

I can’t stop staring at the body. He ain’t even got anything covering his torso, just a sort of shoulder guard made out of a belt and part of an old tire and some fucked up pants. I wonder briefly if he was just cocky or stupid, before realizing there’s not really a difference between the two. As I close the distance, I expect to step over him but end up kneeling down at the last second, and like I’ve done it my whole life, I start going through his pockets.

Mostly junk. Lint, wrappers, trash, couple bottle caps and a bit of ammo. Ain’t the kind I can use, but maybe it’ll get me a little something extra from Moira, so I pocket that, too and then just...leave him there to rot. 

I stop just outside the door, pressing an ear to it and straining to hear anything. Voices, footsteps, maybe even screaming. Nothing. I push it open slowly, and thank God it doesn’t make a single sound.

Inside there’s a sort of...hallway. A short section full of knocked over, rusted shopping carts, and some long-dead Nuka-Cola vending machines. I don’t see any movement, so I slip inside and sidle up to the wall partition between here and the rest of the store.

It’s hard to see much beyond that. There’s only a handful of lights on - maybe even working at all - throughout the entire store. There’s just enough light for me to catch the outline of an ‘Rx’ symbol, used in the old world to designate pharmacy’s. Naturally, it’s on the  _ other _ side of the goddamn store. Because it fucking would be. Now the question is, if there’s anything left in it. Like food. 

Still no movement, still no sound. Not even an echoed utterance. Maybe the one outside was just a loner? Straightening up, I finally step past my hiding spot into the main part of the store. There’s not much to my left - a hallway for bathrooms, I think. But to my right, at the end of a trail of cashier stands is some kind’ve service area. The rest of the space is filled with more random fucked up carts and, go figure, shelves. Wide bases, and the narrow tops got bits of wood going between them like...bridges, I gue- OH SHIT. I drop to my knees, sliding along the tile floor to duck behind the first cashier stand in the row.

Those were definitely footsteps. And out of the lingering clouds of dust and darkness, a figure walks - on  _ top  _ of the shelves. 

Oh fuck. Tell me they didn’t see me! I press into the half wall, closing my eyes like it’s a bad dream, and listen. For a shout, or the thunder of his boots falling to the ground to pursue, or absolutely anything else. His footsteps come to a halt, there’s a few moments of panicked silence, followed by receding footsteps. I dare to peek over, and sure enough he fades back into the darkness, walking along a wooden plank that acts as a bridge between each separate unit of shelves.

No mistake, that was  _ fucking lucky _ . I gotta play it real careful moving forward. If I’m really, really good, maybe I can get in and out without getting noticed. If I can stick to the outskirts, go from corner to corner, I can make a full sweep of the store for anything worth bringing’ back to Moira.

I take it easy, slipping from check-out to check-out only when the moment is right, when there’s a silence and stillness and lack of shadows on the wall. Which, to be fair, there aren’t many of. At the last one in the row I come to a bit of a pause. There’s a considerable distance between where I’m crouching’ and the service room. I look up towards the shelving - no shadows, no figures. I look around the corner towards the back corner. Couple more shelves, perpendicular to the rest, but nothin’ movin’ between them, either. 

This moments the only one I got, so I dash across the space and vault over the countertop, kneeling at the landing so my boots barely make a tap. Guess sneakin’ around vault security and out of the apartment taught me something’ worthwhile after all.

I was expecting this room to be more of a waypoint, but it seems like it might already have most of what I’m looking’ for. It’s mostly lined with counters with metal boxes stored beneath, a couple of shelves in the corner, and directly across from me in the corner is a refrigerator.

Crouching beneath the half wall, I start rummaging through the metal boxes. Couple of them are empty, some have got what look like batteries, but not for anything I’ve ever seen. Them, plus a few hand fulls of ammo - some of which I can actually use - go into different pockets. I run out of room pretty quickly, didn’t expect to be finding this much in one spot, but it’ll get me something at least. 

When I get a little closer to the fridge, I can hear the distinct hum of running electricity. Cracking it open just a bit reveals that there is in fact food inside, and suddenly I am VERY aware of the tightness of my stomach. Guess I didn’t have much of an opportunity to notice it before now. Fridge is pretty well stocked, too. S’a box of dandy boy apples, few bottles of cold Nuka-Cola, some Blamco mac n’ cheese, and a few plates of meat I don’t immediately recognize. Sooner than be given away by my own stomach, I grab one of the boxes of candied apples, hunker down in the darkest corner, and crack it open. It’s not much, but it might tide me over for a little bit.

I thought it’d be harder to continue after this, but color me surprised. I guess I’m feeling some kind of confident that I made it this far without being’ seen yet, cause now I just wanna see how far I can push it. 

Moira still needs to know if there’s medicine after all.

I pull the door open, and for whatever kinda sense it makes I’m a bit relieved it opens inwards. Less movement to spot I guess? Seems like the coast is clear, so I take up the same routine of dashing between cover. There’s about five rows of shelves that I gotta get past before coming up with my next move.

Peek around the corner, move to the second. Peek around the corner, move to the third. Peek around the corner, almost have a heart attack. Not just movement, definitely a person. I look just in time to see a woman, dressed in the same sort of scrappy leather, walking my same path on the other end of the aisle. I don’t know how many more strokes of luck I’ve got, but it can’t be a lot. 

Since she’s walkin away, I take the chance to skip to the next unit. Wait a few seconds, and lean out  _ just  _ enough to catch a glimpse of her back again. Last one - make it to the fifth set of shelves in a single stride, wait a short while as before, and dare to glance forward again. I don’t see her. Look on the other side, see she’s already doubling back over her path. Shit, is this the extent of her patrol? That doesn’t give me a lot of time. 

I’m  _ almost  _ to the back of the store, but I’m out of shelves to hide behind. The only thing that offers me any scrap of cover in the vast distance between here and the back wall are some waist high freezers, caddy-corner to my current hiding spot. I had been moving like a rook, going straight one direction or the other. But now, especially if I don’t want to be sitting directly in front of this bitches line of sight, I gotta move more like a bishop. 

But not yet. Assuming there’s no one else with eyes on this side of the store, she’ll turn around before I finish my move. I gotta wait until she comes back this way and turns around again - that’ll give me the most time to get across and hidden. Kneeling down to hide behind the base, I scope out the back wall.  Beyond the freezers it’s just more shelving attached directly to the wall, but further up is another sort of cut-out over a half wall. Whatever it had been before, now it looked like some kind of storage room. Most of the opening is blocked by simple, metal frame shelves. Maybe there’s a way to get to the pharmacy from there? If not, it’ll at least make a decent hiding spot to catch my breath. 

Her light footsteps trod lazily back this direction. She sighs and mutters something which is...weird. I’d kind’ve forgotten these were, like,  _ people _ . The bad guys in the vids were always so distinguishable, always something about them that made them seem inhuman. Easier to side with the hero that way, I guess. I wonder what kind of life she’s had. Was she like Silver? Just trying to survive a long dead world any way she can? 

She turns back down her path and the thought vanishes from my mind. I have to move, now. It’s a tricky thing, moving as quickly AND as quietly as possible. I make it to the freezer, grabbing the corner to direct the motion as I take a baseball slide around to the other side.

Oh, it was  _ almost  _ perfect. But my luck had to run out sometime.

The foot that leads the slide hits a practical bullseye on an overturned cart which, as if that hadn’t been loud enough, is propelled forward into a  _ second  _ cart. The crash probably could’ve been heard  _ outside _ .

“What the-?! Who’s there?!”

Fuck.

Well, she ain’t shootin’ yet. “I swear to god, Aaron, if you scare me again I’m gonna shoot your fucking balls of.”

Fuck. 

Fuck.

I get out the .32. Fuck.

I don’t want to do this. I don’t wanna shoot her. I just want to leave, I shouldn’t have fucking come this far, I should’ve just checked the fridge and left. I should’ve just left from the fucking parking lot. Fuck. I don’t want to die. Fuck. I don’t want to kill anyone!

“Hey!” 

My brain shuts off and my body reacts.

I always read that shit like this “happens so quickly”. This didn’t happen quickly.

Both hands around the grip, I rise from behind the freezer. 

Her head turns to me as my sights land on her torso.

Her eyes widen as I pull the trigger. 

Her body rolls backward, like water around a pebble.

The arm holding her rifle starts to rise and I pull the trigger again. 

It goes straight through her chest, and she looks me in the eyes as she falls into a heap on the floor.

Oh god. 

What have I done...?

Time speeds up again as more voices burst out behind me. “Hey! What’s going on over there?!” Shit. I blink the tears out of my eyes and haul ass for the storage room, barely making it through the narrow opening before someone opens fire, and I hear shouting.

There’s a door in front of me and a massive pile of junk to my left. I open the door, but rather than go through, squeeze between two fucked up shelves, and start stacking whatever I can in front of me like a ramshackle fort. A loose box, a broken office chair, an empty bucket, whatever I can get my hands on. Not a second later, a head pokes in through the opening I just jumped through. There’s no way he can’t hear my own fucking heartbeat. 

But I guess he doesn’t - he looks straight at the open door. “They’re goin’ around!” He yells out to whoever else is with him, and rather than jumping through as I did, disappears back into the store, maybe thinking he’ll cut me off. 

I don’t move a muscle. I just wait. I listen as several voices shout to one another, male and female. Can’t make sense of it all. Too distant or distorted. I try to calm myself down, but I can’t take in a single fucking stable breath. Feels like I’m just gonna start sobbing, so I just hold it instead, much as I can. Work’s not done yet. 

Someone’s coming down the hall.

“Where’d you go, y’little shit?” 

_ Come and get me, asshole. _

...What the hell? Did I seriously just think that?! 

One of them comes into the room - dunno if he’s the same one as before. Doesn’t matter. He checks behind the door first before doing a slow, counter-clockwise scan of the room. Only one pull of the trigger this time - right into his forehead. He stumbles backwards into the door and falls over. Two down, three bullets down. I take the opportunity to load the empty chambers.

“Nelson!!” 

Ready. 

A single pair of boots storms down the hallway.

Aim.

Another woman bursts into the room.

Fire.

I don’t know how long I can keep this up. There can’t be an army of them or they’d have overwhelmed me already. But I also don’t know how many more there are, and I’ve only got about a handful of bullets to go. 

Don’t hear anyone else coming. And I don’t know how long I should wait here. Bottlenecking them worked a lot better than I expected, but they’re just as likely to be laying traps or ambushes for me. 

Delicately as I can, I move aside my make-shift wall and slide back out from behind the metal racking. As I walk towards the limp bodies and pooling blood, I notice the hand holding the .32 ain’t shakin anymore. It’s steady as the earth beneath me. Later I’ll wonder just what that says about me as a person.

Only now do I get my first look out the door. All I see is a hallway, leading straight ahead and jutting off to the left a few meters down. Waiting won’t do me much good here - only give someone else the jump on me, so I start movin. At least I’m close to the pharmacy, and almost done with this whole fucking thing. Maybe I’ll just book it for the exit, haul ass all the way to Megaton and never look back. Assuming I live that long, anyway.  
Reaching the turn, I start to slow down, intending to lean out and check the path. I don’t expect one of them to come tearing around my direction full bore. And then I learn that, along with screaming, raising a gun and pulling the trigger is a new reaction I’ve learned today.

After that, it’s quiet. Completely quiet. No shouting, no echoes, no clattering footsteps or scuffles. Maybe they fell back, and are lying in wait. Maybe that’s all there was. Only one way to find out. 

Actually going around the corner, there’s two doorways. One directly ahead that goes back into the main store, and another to the right that goes into what must be the pharmacy. Passing through there shows a small room with yet another door. In front of it, a terminal sitting atop a desk. Out of pure curiosity, I cross over to it and tap a key, and the screen lights up, asking for a password. That’s gotta be one of the most surprising things I’ve seen today - a computer terminal out  _ here  _ that still works. 

As I approach, I glance over my shoulder, and see that woman’s eyes before I shot her through the chest. I close my eyes, hard, but that only makes it more vivid. I open them again to an empty, silent room. Fuck. C’mon, Blake, focus. Once my nerves settle - as much as they can, anyway - it takes only a minute to circumvent the security, and then all I see is an option to “Disengage Lock”. I glance up at the closed door, hit enter, and sure enough there’s a  _ click _ . That was lucky. Pushing through the door reveals an entire storeroom, full of shelves that are full - well, half full, tops - of metal boxes. And another terminal on the back counter, its screen glowing a faint green.

I start poking through the boxes. My hands are starting to shake, badly. I fumble with the second box three times then, not even caring about what the repercussions might be, throw it to the floor in frustration. And anger, and fear, and I don’t know what else.  _ Everything _ else. All I know is the urge to push over every shelf in this whole goddamn room. Only partly following the impulse, I shove off a few more boxes onto the floor. The force and awful ruckus they make when they crash to the floor somehow satisfies me. For now. 

I keep sifting through whatever I can. Keeping busy, staying moving feels like the only thing I can do to not completely fucking lose it. Most of them are full of junk, and every time I feel like I’m about to cry, I hear some phantom creak or clatter that terrifies me into total silence once more. I go through about six boxes, only find a tiny handful of bullets, turn to the computer and - woah.

There’s some kind of...pod? I take a few cautious steps towards it, fully expecting it to explode, or for something to burst out and start attacking. Nothing happens. I edge closer, just enough to catch a glimpse through the window, and sigh. It’s another protectron. After another thirty-some seconds, I finally put two and two together, and snap my attention to the computer. 

I sidle over with a single step, but something else captures my attention. A picture. A picture of a woman with short hair and a red apron, smiling to the camera for her employee ID card, resting on top of the computer. Sandra Chesney. Employee Number 3642PHM. It’s covered with dust, like almost everything else. I wonder how it got here? Did she place it there absentmindedly, turning away only to see the blinding light of the Atom bomb? But then, the bomb at the bottom of Megaton never did detonate. Maybe she got away. Maybe it was stored somewhere and moved here by someone previous.

Ah, I forget myself. Rather, I forget my place. I need to finish up and get the hell out of here. Security on this comp is minimal, even less than the one outside. “Run Maintenance Program.” I read out loud, but it doesn’t even sound like me. It sounds like the generic voice you hear in your dreams, that you know isn’t yours but you can’t quite place once you wake up. All the same, I hit the enter key and there’s a gush of air, the pod rolls open, and I can hear the gears winding up on the protectron as its light flickers on.

“ LOADING PERSONALITY: ROBCO R04 V9: OFFICE HELPER. RUNNING DEFAULT OFFICE PROTOCOL: ERROR. LOADING DAILY SCHEDULE: ERROR .”

Heh. What this thing must’ve done in its prime, I wonder. The thought makes me smile, and suddenly I see the image of the second man, sliding backwards into the door while a dribble of blood leaks from the new hole in his head. Rather than close my eyes this time I shake my head, as if a more vigorous movement will be enough. It only makes me dizzy, and I slump against the counter. The man isn’t against the door anymore. No, he’s still in the other room where I left his body. His body that’s probably still warm, with his eyes still open in surprise like they were when I killed him. 

I turn around, for all the good it’ll do. The picture is stuck in my mind, but forcing myself to look at  _ anything _ else covers it up a bit...for now. Focusing my eyes, a metal cabinet hanging on the wall comes into perspective. And what do you know, it’s got a big red plus sign on it. Just as I stand up straight to open it, the robot starts talking again.

“ SECURITY BREACH DETECTED. PLEASE STAND BACK. ”

I freeze for a second, wondering if it only just now registered my presence. But no, it’s trucking past me towards the door I came from. Are there more of them? I wait and listen. Moments later, I hear more laser fire, like from the little one outside, and more shouts of pain and orders barked. Crouching down to the ground, I move to the door and slowly...

I close it. Fuck that. Fuck everything about that. Let the robot handle whoevers left. I don’t think I can take anymore. Physically or otherwise. While the chaos commences outside, I go back to the cabinet and check the inventory. There’s actually a few things left, I’m surprised. A few syringes - one I recognize as a stimpak. Two have some kind of purple-pink liquid, and one is just...heavy duty. I can’t see the liquid inside, but it’s wide, and there’s two auxiliary containers on either side, held together with a strap of leather connecting the lot. Besides that, there’s a bottle that sounds like it’s got maybe five or six pills left inside, a blood pack - I leave that on the shelf - and a couple red inhalers. Glancing around, I grab a small wooden crate that’s only about a foot long, half as wide, and dump the lot in there. That ought to be good enough for Moira. And if it’s not, she can write the rest of the goddamn book by herself.

There’s still sounds of fighting going on outside, so I linger by the countertop, hoping,  _ praying _ I won’t have to go back out there. I see their faces and shut them out, only for them to pop up again, their expressions terrified and bloody. I look over the old employee ID and focus on her picture, trying to use it as a dam against the others. With a final laser blast and scream of vanquish, the entire store falls silent. 

I wait. Nothing beyond the clunky footsteps of the protectron can be heard. That’s my cue, I s’pose. I push up from the counter, walk to the door, and lean outside to make sure the coast is clear. Seizing the opportunity, I vault over the counter into the main store and  _ haul ass  _ to the exit. 

It’s already dusk when I come outside. I’m still not used to natural sunlight, so it takes me a few minutes to see straight again and walk back towards Megaton. My arm resumes bleeding, and it hurts. It stings, and it aches, and it’s like every brush of the cloth is a fresh razor against my skin. I’ve got more stimpaks. I could numb it if I wanted to. But I don’t. It’s clear that this little graze is really the best you can ask for out here. I don’t  _ plan  _ on getting shot to ribbons, but, whatever comes my way will be easier to manage if I get used to the little pieces first. So as I walk, I let it bleed. And I let it sting, and I let my body come to know the pain. And as I walk, I still see their faces. I see the way they fall. I see the way their bodies lay on the ground. 

Four. I killed four people today. Is this like a rite of passage? Should I start keeping notches on this little six shooter? The sun hasn’t yet set when I reach Megaton, but I still feel cold.

I’m sort of running on autopilot at this point. I couldn’t exactly get to the place with my eyes closed, but, I follow the most familiar visual cues and soon enough, I’m at the door to Craterside Supply. I don’t even have the energy to dread Moira’s pep when I go inside. 

“Heeeyyy!” She chimes. I was wrong. I’ve got just enough energy to be annoyed. “How’s my little scavver doing? Did you find the Super Duper Mart okay?” 

“Ah...Y-yeah, I did. It was...challenging, but I found some food and medicine.”

“You did?!” She sounds like I just bought her a pony, and even worse when she sees the box under my arm. “Oh, you  _ did _ ! Tell me all about it!” 

There it is. Now I feel it. A complete and utter sinking feeling, like lead collecting in my gut. “Ah, well, it...there were uh -” What were they called? Re...ra... “Raiders. Set up inside. With patrols and everything. I think that’s where the food came from. And these -” I finally hand over the box. “Were in the pharmacy, I’m pretty sure most of this is from them, too.” 

“Oh, I see.” She picks up the large needle with the leather. “Yeah, it looks like most of these are post-war chems.”

“They’re....what?”

For the first time, she looks at me like  _ I’m _ nuts, and then I realize that I probably haven’t mentioned where I’m from. “Oh, I, uh, well, I’m -” Her eyes dart in three different directions over me like she just targeted three points of attack. 

“Oooohhh, you’re not from the Vault, are you? I should have known! That jacket covered up the top part of your jumpsuit but I’d know those legs anywhere! It’s no wonder, too, with that Pipboy on your arm! Well, let me explain. These are ‘chems’, chemical compounds used uh...recreationally. The pills are Rad-X, they’re great for preventing radiation sickness if your little geiger counter starts ticking! This one with the purple liquid is called Med-X. It’s mostly a painkiller and good in a pinch, but a lot of people end up becoming addicted to it, so be careful if you ever have to use it!” 

Then she points to the red inhaler. “This one is Jet. It’s a really strong hallucinogen, and REALLY easy to get addicted to, it’s no surprise they have so many. And this one...” she says it heavily, indicating the last large syringe. “Is called Psycho. I’ve heard that it was made before the war, to beef up their soldiers for front line assaults. I couldn’t tell you why people still use it so much - it increases adrenaline and aggression, blocks higher cognitive abilities, and just makes you really, really mad! I mean, where’s the fun in that, right?” 

She beams at me, and if there is a joke in there, I don’t get it. She doesn’t falter, though, and continues right along. “Aaanyway, it seems like they at least acquired some kind of stash and set up protection around it. Wonder how many other places are hiding treasures behind monsters, hmm?” Don’t get any ideas, lady, I’m already regretting taking this on. “Here, you can keep these -” She hands me the stimpak and med-x’s. “You’ll need them more than me! Haha!” 

I’m too tired to even threaten her, and I’m about to take my leave, when I remember my pockets are full of shit.

“Oh, wait, actually -” I start piling everything I collected onto the countertop, weird batteries, bits of ammunition, some of which I could probably use but I can’t be bothered to pick through it right now. When there’s a nice little mountain of crap on the counter, I look back up to see she’s actually stunned silent. For once.

“My goodness! You sure were a busy little bloatfly out there, weren’t you?” She coos, and starts separating the loot by type. 

“How much can I get for all that?”

“Hmm...well, these with the chems, I think I can give you about thirty caps?”

Shit, only thirty? Is that really all that is worth? “Sure.”

“Great!” She dips beneath the counter, gives me my caps, and I add them into the previously empty satchel. She chimes out some farewell, and I’m out the door. Once I step outside, amongst the visions of terrified eyes and limp bodies and stark splashes of blood, I see something beautiful. 

The city is awash in the light of the setting sun, just over the crest of the last visible ridge of land. It bathes the city in a way that makes it look...initially, I want to say like it’s on fire, but that’s wrong. That’s too...aggressive, too destructive. No. No, it’s like  _ gold _ . It makes Megaton look like it’s made entirely of gold. Quiet and peaceful, and with a bright, vivid yellow-orange gleaming off patched walls and windows, glinting off rivets and bolts, the city just  _ shines _ . And from up here, too...what a spectacular sight. 

Suddenly I am aware of just how tired I really am. For a split second I consider curling up right here on the spot and just passing out. But even though I feel tired, I don’t feel like sleeping. I don’t want to close my eyes, shut out the beautiful view I see now and replace it with their faces again. I don’t need to sleep, I need a  _ drink _ . But if I go back to Moriarty’s, I’m not sure I won’t be adding another body to my count. I know I was told to keep to the top as much as I can, but I’ve got a greater desire to be as far away from Moriarty as possible, so down I go. 

In the shade, Megaton reverts back to it’s rusted silver grey. But to me, that’s beautiful in its own ways, too. I meander its metal, muddied streets, taking in the bones of the city while keeping my eye out for any kind of bar or tavern.

There’s a repair place, a place for leather, a butcher - kinda curious what’s in there. Clothes, of course, and a shady looking shack that advertises ‘armaments’. There’s even an actual junk shop. All the sign even says is just, ‘JUNK’, in large capital letters. What a fascinating place. And then there’s - ahh. What I’ve been looking for. 

A fairly large shack, whose roof makes the foundation for the house above it. It’s got just enough real estate to have a small awning out front, but most importantly, underneath its name “The Brass Lantern”, is another, smaller sign that simply says “bar”. 

Sold.

If I had more fucks to give, I might be worried about the sidelong glances I get heading to the entrance. But more and more that just seems like a fuckin greeting in this place, so without  batting an eye, I go inside. 

It’s...not exactly quaint. Can’t quite find the word for it. Moriarty’s at least had some personality to it, some kind of established atmosphere. In here it’s just. Dark. Filled with smoke. Quiet, too, there’s at least a bit of buzz of conversation up top. Ah;  _ perfect _ . That’s the word I was looking for. It's exactly the kind of hole I want to crawl into after today.

That grizzly bald guy who was outside of the Saloon is sitting at the end of the counter, and even though he tried to play it off, I definitely saw him do a double take. Didn’t expect to see little ol’ me down here, did you pal? Place is busier than I expected, but I suppose it makes sense. Denser population, likely cheaper. Likely more pleasant, too. Don’t wanna get too buddy-buddy with anyone, so when I see a stool that’s vacant on the left, and with one seat between it and another guy on the right, that’s the one I go for. 

Everyone else in here is wearing some kind of leather or armor over their clothing, even if it’s just shoulder guards and a few belts. This guy kind of sticks out with how simple he looks. Buff, tan cargo pants, plain white shirt, combed-back brown hair that brushes the nape of his neck, with matching unkept anchor beard, and some intense sunglasses. Not typical sunglasses, either. They seem exceptionally thick, and got pieces of dark glass that cover the sides of his eyes, too. Just when I’m wondering if he might be blind, he turns his head my way, and tilts it just enough to give the impression of looking me over, and then goes back to his drink. Well, he didn’t stare at me like I’m a piece of meat, which just now I consider as an endorsement of character.

The bartender comes by but says nothing, only jerks his chin at me. I open my mouth as soon as I realize I only know enough about alcohol to know I hate beer. "Uh.. I'll have.. What he's having." I gesture to the guy next to me. Guy behind the counter doesn't even turn his head to see what my neighbor’s got, just raises an eyebrow at me. And I stare right back. Say something, motherfucker, I  _ dare  _ you. But he doesn’t. He just shrugs, leaves, comes back with a glass full of an amber fluid and leaves. Unceremoniously, I press the glass to my lips and drink, letting it wash over my tongue and linger in my throat before swallowing. 

I've heard people say bad liquor tastes like old, warm piss, but I feel like even that would taste better. And go down easier. It stings my throat and burns my lungs, and I start coughing like I just took in a face full of smoke. I stifle it as best I can, clearing my throat and trying to breathe slowly through the burn. I can feel this guy watching me, turning his head just enough to see me. But I don't look at him. I won't let him, or anyone else who’s attention is turned this way, think I care about impressing any of them. I'm not here to make a point or to fit in. I don't think I can fit in.

We'd always heard how dangerous it was out here, and even if I had been told in specific detail the kind of shit I'd encounter today... It still wouldn't have prepared me. I always thought the vault was cramped, but I can see now that it's the outside world that has no room for someone like me. 

And that's why I am here. I'm not trying to make my place, or find my niche or start a reputation. I'm trying to fucking cope. So, jackass, I don't know what you're hoping to see, but don't expect me to care. And with that thought, I take another drink. This time I actually manage not to cough, but I do cringe and shake a little as it goes down. 

I guess knowing what's coming does help a little. 

“That kinda day, huh?” 

It speaks. 

I only glance his way, but he’s turned towards me now. So much for quiet.

“Yeah.” I look into the glass like it’s a challenge, pumping myself up to take another drink. Doesn’t take much. God, this stuff is awful. 

“Y’know, it’s easier if you just -” he demonstrates by tossing his glass back and taking a quick shot. And while I still don’t fuckin care about his opinion, I’m not above taking advice I don’t know shit about. So I do the same motion, and even though it makes me cough again, I can’t say it was ineffective. Stronger, in a way, since the whole thing happens at once, but it’s over quicker, too. He gives a single nod, raises his glass, and takes another swig. I wave to the bartender for another. 

“Where’d you blow in from?” His voice is deep, and kind of dry. Not so much like a long-term smoker raspy, but more like the Overseer after he’s been yelling at someone all day. 

“The, uh, Super Duper Mart.” He gives me an appreciative nod.

“Fuck that place. Fuckin’ crawling with raiders.”

I raise my eyebrows in dry humor. “Well, not anymore.”

“Oh, no? What happened?”

“I did.” I meant that more as a joke, but it came out sounding...well, kinda badass.

“... _ You _ cleared them out?” I answer with another drink. “Huh. You’re tougher than you look, Red.” 

Ugh. Not that fucking nickname. At least there’s no ‘Little’. 

“Blake.” I correct him. “Name’s Blake.” 

He raises a hand in apology. “Tell y’what, Blake. If you can finish that, next one’s on me.” 

I look back at my glass. One, two, three swallows empties it completely, and sends a shiver up my spine so intense it forces my head to shake. He lets out a bark of laughter, finishes his glass, and waves over the bartender for two more.

That...that might have been a mistake. I immediately feel dangerously nauseous - maybe if I don’t speak, or move, or breathe, it’ll go away. 

“You’re new to Megaton, aren’t you?” It doesn’t really sound like a question. “I’d remember seeing that before.” With his glass in hand, already having taken a drink probably, he points with one finger towards my Pipboy, which prompts me to hide it beneath the counter for some reason I don’t know. “And it’s hard to miss that hair.”

“I - y-yeah.” Oh god. Here it comes. My stomach churns and...nothing happens. I don’t actually upchuck. Not yet. “Yeah, from the Vault.” Short and to the point responses seem to be my best ally at the moment. 

“Is that so?” He asks with a wry smile. It’s all I can do to just nod, and keep looking into my drink as the nausea slowly subsides. “Since when?”

There’s another lurch. Different than the one before. More like all of the queasy discomfort boiling in my gut concentrates and shoots up into my chest instead. I wrap my hand around the glass. “Yesterday.”

Silence. What, nothing else to say? I can’t even look at him. Part of me is starting to  _ want  _ to throw up, to feel anything besides this heaviness in my chest. Against my better judgment, I take another long drink, almost draining the glass, and somehow it seems to stabilize things. Well, internally, anyway. Now I’m starting to feel kind of...lightheaded. Like there’s been a vice on my head all day that’s just started to be unwound. 

“Bullshit.” He don’t sound like he’s smiling now. “You’re tellin’ me, you crawled out’ve that Vault, that no one EVER comes out of, and made your way to the Super Duper Mart, and  _ cleared  _ the building?” I nod again, and I feel the vice unwind a little more. 

“Yep. Just yesterday.”  _ Yesterday _ . Shit. Barely 24 hours ago I was comfortably asleep in my own bed. “My dad left, see. Without telling anyone, I guess. And you’re not  _ supposed  _ to leave. You  _ can’t  _ leave. ‘We’re  _ born  _ in the Vault’ -” I rap the counter with my fist for emphasis. “And ‘we  _ die _ in the Vault’. No one ever enters, and no one  _ ever  _ leaves.” Still silence. The nausea that started in my stomach is spilling out in my fucking life story. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “Except apparently you can. Cause my dad did. And obviously it was  _ my  _ fault, so I wake up to alarms and radroaches and gunshots and fucking  _ corpses  _ in the cafeteria -” Fuck, I felt my voice waver. And I know I said I don’t fuckin care about impressing these people, but I care just enough to not want them to see me like this.

“So here I am, out in the Capitol Fucking Wasteland for just over twenty-four hours and I’ve been threatened, manipulated, had a knife shoved in my face, got fuckin shot - not just shot  _ at _ , but  _ actually  _ fucking SHOT, and I - I killed people! I actually - I actually  _ killed  _ people. Multiple.” The vice releases a little more, and I start to calm down. Now I feel kind of dizzy, but in a nice, relaxing way. 

I swallow the rest of the glass, shaking my head at the sting but ravishing in it all the same. I raise my hand for a refill, when I hear my neighbor mutter. “Ah, I think... you’ve probably had enough.” 

“...No.” Is all I can manage to say. 

“Yeah, you have. Just, have some water and get some rest.”

Sleep. Right. Bed. Fuck. Forgot about the common house. Hope it’s not full again. Probably is. I nod anyway. “Right. Okay.” Still feel nauseous. He backs off a little, but hovers for a moment. 

“You’ll be alright, kid.” Finally I look at him, wide eyed as a terrified child I’m sure, but I guess I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that until now. It might just be the whatever-I-drank talking, but he’s actually...kinda handsome.

“I...why are you wearing sunglasses?” His head drops a little and he smirks - ok, kinda pretty handsome - and he thumps me on the back in what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring way, but it just makes me dizzier. 

“You should get going before you pass out here on the bar.”  

I nod a few more times as I push up from the stool. I don’t immediately fall over, so there’s that. So far so good. “Thanks.” I manage, which is what I meant to say in the first place.

Night has fully fallen when I leave, but there’s lanterns and streetlights everywhere. I might be more dazzled by it if I didn’t feel my energy draining like a sprung leak. The more I walk, the dizzier I get. Goddamn, I am a lightweight. In some alleyway behind the lower tier, I finally upchuck an awful, burning mixture of bile and alcohol. I want my bed. I want my dad. I want to go home.

  
  


All I dream about is the shopping mart. The look on the woman’s face as I pull the trigger, only she doesn’t fall to a heep. I keep shooting, her body keeps jerking and seizing as the lead tears through her muscles and triggers nerve synapses, but she never fucking dies. Just keeps staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I keep hearing the screams and shouts of the others as they go down behind me, seeing blood spread across the faded tile floor. 

I don’t wake with a start, my eyes just open. Somehow, I made it to that godawful couch in the common house. And even though my head feels like it’s splitting in two, I don’t wince or groan. I almost feel like I deserve it. Most of me knows that I don’t. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill them, but I had no choice. It was them or me. Even so, I don’t resist the ache in my head. I might go for some ibuprofen or acetaminophen if it were available, if I were in the Vault, but it’s not, and I’m not, so I just force myself through it. Another day in paradise. 

Heading outside, the first thing that hits me is a blast of sunlight that makes me swear and flip off the sky, but that’s quickly followed and overwritten by the smell of food. And it don’t smell half bad, either.

I follow it, and soon the sound of sizzling, to an oddly shaped shack, covered in the shade of the building above it, with a makeshift grill out front. It’s an overturned cart set on its side, with a fire built  _ inside  _ it. Looking over it sends flashes of the Super Duper Mart through my mind - the carts I knocked over, bodies lying beside them, blood all over - I rub my eyes, trying to wipe the unpleasant smudges from my corneas. 

“Squirrel, iguana, brahmin and mole rat skewers! Fresh meat! Butchered this morning!” The cook says loudly,  _ too _ loudly, and it makes my headache throb. Of the list, I’m only familiar with mole rats and I am sure as shit not eating one. 

“How much for the, er, squirrel bits?” 

“Crispy squirrel bits!” He calls out again, seemingly louder than before, and I’ve got to fight the urge to press his loud fucking mouth into his piece of shit grill. “Grilled to perfection and only five caps a stick!” 

“Uh, squirrel...please.” I manage to say, instead of  _ shut you’re fuckin’ hole _ like I wanted to. As I’m getting out my money, someone else comes by and takes a stick of the brahmin, also for five caps. He picks up the squirrel kabob as I reach forward with the caps, handing it to me with one hand and collecting payment with the other. 

“Um, have you got anything to drink?”

“Fresh brahmin skewers! Butchered this morning! Iguana, squirrel and mole rat! Only five caps!” He continues to absolutely no one. So, I’ll take that as a ‘no’ and just move along. The meat is...eh. They’re crispy, no doubt, but only on the outside. The meat itself is kind of chewy and a little bland. Says me, coming from the vault where our steaks were seasoned with way too much salt and maybe a little pepper for special occasions. Anyway, it’s not exactly gourmet, but it’s breakfast, which is more than I expected when I woke up today. 

And then I come to a halt at the realization that breakfast is as far as my plans go. Especially after hearing dad’s message, what I really want to do is just barrel in, guns-a-blazing into D.C. to find him. But I’m starting to get the impression that I’d be turned into pulp faster than a radroach in the reactor core. I hate the thought of it, of taking any more time than absolutely necessary, and especially the possibility of putting even more distance between us, but I’m just...not ready yet. I need to be smart about this, get my bearings and go in prepared, not desperate. 

But I don’t really know how to prepare, either. Moira’s got more work to be done for her book, but after yesterday... _ Shouts and gunshots and gurgling breaths as they each go down, one by one _ \- Fuck! I can’t even stop thinking about it. If I can’t get them out of my head, the look on that womans face or the way they all just collapsed like puppets cut from a string, I’m gonna go mad. Anything else like that today is gonna kill me, even if just from a fucking heart attack.

Seems best to just stay in town, look for some odd jobs, and try to figure out what the hell an iguana is. 

I keep walking, gnawing on this meat-gum and gazing around, trying to get a feel for the place. Know where things are, which direction places are in, that kind of thing, when I see a familiar figure headed my way. I wave in greeting, stuffing another bit of squirrel in my mouth to buy me some time to remember her name. S...Sa... “Susan!” 

“Hey! Y’know, I don’t think I caught your name our first meeting.”

“Blake.” 

“What’re you doin’ hangin’ around a place like this?” 

I flash a feeble smile. “Top tier’s a bit out of my budget just now.” 

She nods, likely expected the answer. “How’s the Wasteland treatin’ ya? Feel like running back screaming yet?”

“Ah, well, I, uh -” Topic change! “Actually, I was just wondering where I might go to find some work.”

“Oh! Well, I know Moira’s always lookin’ for -” 

“Besides Moira.”

She smiles and stifles a laugh. “Hah, well, let me think. There’s always somethin’ that needs done around town, but - Oh! Y’know, our water guy, Walter, he’s been belly achin’ about pipes and shit for long as I can remember, kinda just sounds like white noise to me now. He’ll prob’ly do a little jig, you tell him you wanna help out. Let’s see...” 

She gives me directions, and then repeats them, because I’m still fucking lost, wishes me luck, and we go our separate ways. It’s a bit...less involved than what I was really hoping for, but it’s a start. 

The water processing plant is a fairly simple building, but  _ big _ . Going inside, I realize it's actually a few floors high; there's multiple sets of large pipes that bend downwards into a massive vat, full of water. I can hear pumps and gears and flowing water - it actually sounds like the purifier in the vault - a sound I never thought I would find soothing.

“Hello?” There's a clang, then some muttering, followed by a shout. 

“What the- who's’ere?! Whaddyou want?”

“Name’s Blake, Susan told me you’ve been tryin’ta get help patching up pipes?”

An old black man with a mess of grey hair appears from behind one of the giant pipes. He turns his head like a bird to look me over with what I’m assuming is his ‘good’ eye. 

“So you’re the best she could find, eh? Feh.” Rude. He turns away, and shuffles deeper into the room and starts fussing with a pile of papers scattered across a desk. “Guess you’ll do. Y’look t’be in better shape’n most’ve the riff-raff around here, anyway. Where’s it, now, darn this ol - aha!” With a flourish that sends more papers onto the floor than stay on the desk, he shoves one specific sheet under my face. Once I pull it away and actually bring it into focus, I still have no idea what it is.

First guess, a series very unsuccessful attempts at drawing circles. It looks almost like a hypnotic off-center spiral, each ring closer to the center than the last, with a random spattering of red x marks.

“That there’s a map’ve Megaton, an’ all the place’s where people’ve reported leaking pipes.” I keep staring at the paper, trying to figure out how in the fuck it’s a map. “My old bones can barely move up the stairs anymore, need someone with good young legs t’get around to ‘em, patch ‘em up. Are you listening?!” He barks, making me jump and snap my attention to him instead of the paper I’d been staring at.

“Yeah, I just...this is a map?” 

“Course it is! What’s it look like?” 

I look back down at it. “A drunkenly scribbled dart board.” 

He snatches it back, barely glances at in and shoves it in my face again, keeping a firm hand on it so I can’t move it. 

“It’s topographical, dumbass!”

Ah, right, of course. “What the fuck is topic-raphical?” 

“ _ Topo- _ ...Are you tellin’ me y’ain’t never seen one’ve these before?” 

“I guess I am.” 

He stares for a second, looks me up and down, and inevitably connects two and two, as so many seem to do. “Well I’ll be a molerats mother. You’re from the Vault, ain’t’cha?” 

_ Sigh.  _ “Yeah, I am.”

He licks his teeth as he considers me. As I’m about to tell him off, he holds up the map again. “A topographical map shows the...hill bits, see? This outer line is the outer edge of Megaton, which is higher up than the ones down here towards the center of the crater. Make sense?” 

As my brain absorbs this, the map sort of shifts into focus, and I see it properly for the first time. “Ooohhh.” 

“Right. Down here in the corner’s the scale, so between each line is about half a mile. Y’know what a mile is?”

Vaguely. “Yeah.”

“Alright, so this x down here in the southern part, that’s the pipe that runs along the main path from the gate. The x is where it’s leaking.” And he hands the map to me, like the rest is just gonna fall into place from there and I know what I’m doing. “Got it?”

Somewhat. “...Sure.”

“Good. Now I’ve got some scrap metal y’can use, but I dependin’ on where the leak is comin’ from, I don’t think I’ll have enough for all of’em. Some’ve ‘em might just need a valve tightened up.” He moves away again, and starts mumbling so that if I don’t keep right on his heel, I can’t hear what he’s saying. Suddenly he hands me a long metal box full of bits of pipe and sheet metal of every size, a long pincer-like set of pliers, and a pair of goggles. While I’m looking down at it, he drops in a welding torch that makes me almost drop the whole fucking thing.

“That ought’a do. Y’know how t’use that thing?”

Sort of. “...Yep.” 

He narrows his eyes, then says, “Well be sure you cover your face with that bandana. You don’t wanna breath in any’ve that crap.”

“Bandana? What - oh.” I glance down and, sure enough, there’s a stained, ratty bandana stuffed into the corner.

“Get goin’ then!” He snaps, and it’s only the weight of this fucking box that keeps me from jumping a second time. 

“...I’m just supposed to  _ haul  _ this junk around Megaton?” 

He gives me a stink eye look. “Are you suggesting you’re gonna trek back here every single time for a new piece?” 

“N-no, but-”

“Then quit’cher bitchin’ and get t’work!” And without another word, turns, throws his hands up and starts mumbling to himself again. 

Suddenly this box feels a lot heavier. 

 

Twenty minutes, five bids to buy the box off my hands, two offers of chems and I’m finally at the first pipe by the entrance. And already completely soaked in sweat. I attempt to set down the box relatively gently, but it managed to become ten pounds heavier on the way and my arms are about to fall off with it, so instead it drops with a loud clatter. After some stretching, panting and bitching, I kneel down to inspect the pipe. Wasn’t too hard to find the leak when there’s a nice arch of water sprouting out of it. 

Immediately, my heart sinks. The problem is clear as day. Like Walter said, it’s just a loose valve. Which means I have to pick up the box again. I take as much time as I possibly can with it, turning it slowly, with one hand, making sure it’s  _ real tight  _ even after the water dribbles away. I take a few more minutes to check the map, and guesstimate about where the next closest one is. 

There’s one a bit southwest, which is further uphill. Ugh. The next closest is downhill, but I’m going to have to head back up at some point, anyway. Maybe it’ll be better to just start on the outside and work my way in towards the center. With a sigh that comes out more like a whimper, I heave the box up again and head up the hill. 

This one, nestled between the outer wall and underneath a building, takes me a few minutes to spot, since there’s no arch of water this time. But there is a soaked through patch of earth with a trail leading downhill and, with a little squinting, I spot the chink. 

Just along the connecting seam, there’s a thin sort of ‘tear’ where the metal has been worn away by rust. Which means a patch job. Which means, it’s time to figure out how the fuck this welding thing works. It looks relatively simple. It’s shaped vaguely like a gun, but the would-be barrel looks more like a plasma pistol out of an alien comic book than anything I’ve seen in the real world. 

Goggles, check. Bandana, check. Alien blaster, check. Taking two pieces of scrap metal, I lay one over the other, intending to just seam the two together as a test-run. In one hand, I hold the pliers that hold the metal still. In the other, I point, and shoot.

Even with the goggles, which turn the shade beneath the building into almost pitch blackness, the sparks are  _ really  _ goddamn bright. I imagine I’d go halfway blind before my finger could let off the trigger without them. And I’m surprised. I expected to feel a blast of heat against my bare hands, but I don’t. I feel the hair on my arm rise like goosebumps, and a charge go up my spine, but no heat. This is not like any welding torch I grew up with. 

Seam looks good...I suppose I should wait for it to cool and then check it before mending the pipe. But I’ve got about twenty of these to do and exactly zero patience, so I go on ahead and meld the seam on the pipe. It takes a few minutes for my eyes to readjust after removing the goggles, but once they do I can get a closer look at my work. From what I can see with my novice eyes, there’s no gaps on either side, and as far as I can tell, that means job’s done.

Nineteen more to go.

 

About an hour later, I’m covered in three layers of sweat, interspersed with dirt, grime, and grease. I’ve done all the pipes closest to the outer wall and have been steadily working my way downwards. In doing so, I’ve gotten lost three times and made about four or five circles before I finally got a sense of orientation, and I’m pretty certain I’ve got multiple blisters on each foot. Not the worst day I’ve had. 

None of the pipes have been in such disrepair that a quick patch or tightening of a bolt couldn’t fix it, and it’s starting to feel like each one goes faster than the last. I assume I’ll be done in another hour or so, and here’s to hoping Walter pays well. Or at least, enough to buy a meal. I’m fucking starving. 

Of course, the lower I go, the more dense and populated it is. I’ve had to wind my way through what I guess I could call back alleys, around crowds, and through spaces so tight I’m not sure they were even meant to be paths. Which truthfully has really done me the most good in getting a sense of the city. In half an hour, I’ve done five more. Another half hour later, three; one of them I spent extra time on, scanning the ground for it until I happened to walk underneath it’s stream of water, and then spending several more minutes figuring out how to get to it. At least the buildings are more stable than they look. 

Another hour with all the extra time it takes to find the fucking things in the denser areas, and I’m finally finished. There’s actually a bit of scrap metal left, Walter should be happy about that. Well, as ‘happy’ as he can seem to get, anyway. Rather than take the main roads, I slither up the back streets and hidden ramps, to avoid the thick crowds and chemheads. 

Going back into the water plant, I finally peel the welding goggles and bandana off my face, and feel the pooled sweat trickle down my cheeks. I drop them back in the box, and set it down on the nearest surface, which seems to be a pair of short filing cabinets. “Walter? I’m done with the pipes!” 

Some clangs and mutterings echo from below, but I don’t spot him when I look over the railings. “...Walter?” No answer. More clatter. “Walter?” I ask louder, starting to worry that he just knocked himself unconscious or something.

“Shut up and gimme a minute, would’ya?!”

Oh, he’s fine. Few minutes later he’s stomping up the metal staircase in the back corner. 

“I finished patching up the pi-”

“I heard.” He waves me off, walks past me and looks into the box. “Huh. Well, let’s hope you’re not an idiot and none of em burst completely open.” 

“ _ You  _ gave me the - !” 

“I got more work fer ya, if yer interested.” 

That catches me off guard, and more than anything I want to ask why he’d keep  _ giving _ me work if he’s so doubtful of my abilities. Instead, after a second, I say “Yes, definitely. But I need to get some lunch first.” 

“Well, I guess that means you’ll be wantin’ paid, then.” 

I’m not going to say no. He shuffles towards the back again, this time through a door, then comes back with a baseball sized satchel. 

“Here, forty caps. Don’t take all day about it, all you’ve done is delay the inevitable.” And again, he turns away without waiting for a response. Works for me. Quick lunch, and back to work. 

 

* * *

 

The city is ablaze once more in setting sun when I finally head out to the bathrooms. With all the running around I’ve done today, I managed to find some pretty convenient short-cuts through the city. Even so, when I get there, four people are already in line. Within the next minute, three more people are behind me. Everyone else in line has some kind of duffel bag, backpack, or good old fashioned bundle-on-a-stick, and I’m here with...nothing. The clothes on my back. Suppose I’ll just be doing a quick rinse today. 

Five minutes later, the door opens, a man with sopping wet hair exits, and before the door closes again the next guy in line slips in. Only a few minutes later, another person walks out. Next person in the queue goes in. 

A little under half an hour later, it’s my turn at last. Walking into the small hut reveals about what I expected; a row of about five shower stalls with disparaged curtains, opposite a matching row of what I can only assume to be toilet stalls. There’s a total of two sinks with ramshackle mirrors, and that’s it. Given the lack of privacy, I imagine that stripping down before stepping behind the curtain would be nothing spectacular at all. All the same, I don’t exactly feel comfortable doing so. 

Every other stall occupant has their packs hanging on hooks just outside of their curtains. Undressing in the stall, I hang only my clothes on my designated rack. There’s only one knob on the shower wall, and only two settings - on and off. Twisting it on, I let out a shout when the water hits my skin. 

It’s absolutely  _ freezing _ . I knew those old fashioned water heaters were inefficient, but this is  _ ridiculous.  _ I guess that’s what I get for being fifth in line. It takes a few deep breaths, and a few more muttered swears before I kind of get used to it enough to rinse off the top layers of dirt and sweat. The occupants of the other showers say nothing, at least not to me. I focus on the sounds of their movements, when one tap shuts off and a curtain is pushed aside, trying to focus on anything else besides how  _ fucking cold _ this water is.

I wasn’t sure if it would even be worth it without soap, but watching the water change colors around my feet assures me that it is. I consider rinsing out my hair, but would that be worth having to tolerate the freezing water? Rubbing my shoulders both for hygiene and warmth, I debate for a moment, then decide I’m already here and might as well. Pulling my hair loose, I dunk it beneath the cold stream and grunt out a few more expletives as I get an external brain freeze.

Only after dunking my entire head do I remember that I don’t actually have a towel. I could just stand here and try to drip dry, only I don’t have all fuckin day to do so. Fuckit. Without even trying to dry off, I just step back into the filthy vault jumpsuit and wriggle it on over my wet skin.

I was originally planning on going straight to the common house, but the sign on the Brass Lantern just down the hill catches my eye, and though I’d expect the first thought to follow would be of food, or even alcohol, it’s not. I’m surprised to find that the first thing that comes to mind when gazing towards the Brass Lantern, is wondering if the man in the sunglasses will be there again tonight. I do owe him a drink, afterall...

The place is small enough that I only have to scan the room once to see he isn’t there. But I scan a second time anyway, and settle into the middle of an empty row along the bar. 

“Well, look who made it another day.” The bartender from last night sidles up and smirks, like he’s so fuckin clever.

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme another...whatever I had last night.”

He twists his mouth like he’s trying not to laugh, and just says “Whiskey, comin’ up.” and places a short glass of the same amber liquid before me. 

“And uh - some crispy...whatever bits, if you’ve got em.”

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Cheapest one.” 

He waits, shrugs, then heads around the bar towards an open door in the back. 

Shortly after, I’m fed and a just the right amount of buzzed. I count out the twelve caps I owe, and slip around the back of the building, hoping that I can use the shortcuts to my advantage one more time and secure a bed at the common house. I have to go up to the third level, but I manage to swipe one of two mattresses still left, the last one being claimed barely a minute afterwards. With nothing to unpack or stash away, I just lay down and wait to fall asleep.

It eventually comes, but it’s not sound. I wake up every few hours after another nightmare, watching that fucking woman die again, over and over. Watching their bodies crumple to the floor. Watching radroaches crawl out of their corpses, watching them die only to realize they’re my own father, one after another. After the latest jolt to consciousness, the time on my pip-boy is just before 5 AM. Might as well get up now.  

Getting up and out the door before anyone else means first pick for breakfast, which I munch on while sitting atop of the highest points of the city. It’s sort of peaceful, watching more and more people fill the paths as the town starts to wake. Once I’m done, I start to head to Walters, then decide Moira’s would probably be a better first stop. I’ve got a little bit of spare caps, maybe just enough to buy at least another set of clothes

“Good morning! Welcome to Craterside Supply!” Moira’s voice chimes out the second I open the door. “Oh, heya Blake! Good to see you!” 

“Uh. Thanks. You too. Listen -” I start before she gets a chance to, “I need...well, a lot of things. Have you got, like, clothes, toiletries, stuff like that?”

“Oh, sure! I’ve got all kinds of things! Better business, don’t’cha know!” 

“That’s... good. What’ve you got?”

Forty minutes and a lot of haggling later, I’ve got a pair of jeans, one pair of socks, two worn t-shirts, a bottle of three-in-one shampoo/conditioner/body wash, another bottle of mouthwash, and a small little pack to carry it all in. 

“Excellent.” I look down into the pack, going over my mental checklist and marking off each piece. “Alright, I think that’ll do me. What do I owe?”

“Let’s see, so far...” So far? “We’re at twenty-three caps.” 

“Great.” That’s not as bad as I was expecting. Puts a significant dent in what I have left after food and drink for two days, but it’ll be worth it. And I expect Walter will have more work for me today. 

“Although,” Uh oh. I already don’t like her tone. She sounds hesitant. Anything that can make Moira hesitate bodes ill for us all. “Have you considered - I mean, do you need - have you thought about...”

I raise my eyebrow questioningly. “Speak freely, Moira, we’re all friends here.” 

She shifts. “Well, I don’t know what kind of things they had for you down in the vault, but, are you prepared for your uh...special lady time?” 

It takes me a few seconds to understand what the fuck she’s talking about. And when I do, it hits me like a wave. “O-oh...uh, w-well, no, I...completely forgot about that, actually.” Well...fuck. As if I didn’t already have enough trouble keeping all the blood inside my body, I didn’t even consider having to plan around  _ that  _ too. 

It’s not until she speaks again that I realize I’d been spacing out. “Well, not to worry dear!” She chimes, but I can sense something else there too. I think it might just be pity. “I’ve got a couple different things for you to chose from. All washable and reusable, easy to carry.” 

I feel like a teenager again, being talked to by some awkward, uncomfortable adult. Without a living mom, I had the misfortune of my two disgruntled fathers try to explain to me ‘the changes my body was going through’. I can remember the feeling of complete embarrassment, and preferring the idea of talking to  _ Mrs. DeLoria  _ over James and Jonas, but looking back on it now only makes me miss them more. 

Moira explains the different types of products to me, and I pick the one with the lowest possible maintenance. It alone takes another decent chunk out of my remaining finances, almost all that I have left, but I suppose the silicone material is by no means easy to come by. 

“Now if you have any problems with that or need help with  _ anything  _ else, you just let me know, kay?” I think she was trying to go for motherly, but it came off as just condescending. 

I thank her begrudgingly, pay her, and slide the pack over my shoulders. Just as I get my hand on the door, “Also!” 

_ Sigh.  _ “Yeah, Moira?” 

“Whenever you’ve got the time, there’s still a few things I need done for the first part of my book!” 

Yeah, I know. “What’s left?”

“Well!” She claps her hands together excitedly. God, it’s too early for this. It’s always too early to deal with Moira. “There’s going to be a bit about radiation sickness, and how to handle it, as well as a section dedicated to dealing with one of the most common wasteland pests, molerats!” 

Right. “What do you need to know about radiation sickness?” She looks a little uncertain, and hesitates again. Oh lord. I take my hand off the door knob and face her directly. “Look, my dad was -  _ is _ a doctor, and I helped in his clinic. We got people with different degrees of radiation sickness all the time.” 

She lights up again. “Oh, great! Hang on, let me get something to write with!” 

 

Another half hour later, I’m finally free. I’ve got to hand it to her, she did ask a lot of great questions. I’m more relieved that I didn’t have to crawl in there with radiation poisoning  _ myself _ to get that part done. And the mole rat ‘repellent’ stick actually sounds kind of interesting. But for now, time to head to Walter’s and make some of that money back. 

 

* * *

 

Well I’ll be damned.

She actually did it. Cleared the whole fuckin’ place out. Or at least, came up on it after someone else’d cleared it, looted everyone, and took the credit. It makes sense for someone in her position. Just out’ve the vault, needs t’make a name of herself or risk becomin’ a target. 

I stare’ down at one of the bodies, a lady raider, wide-eyed with two bullet holes in her chest. I take a final drag of my cigarette, then put it out in one of her open eyes. Bitch. Fuckin’ hate raiders. 

That clunkin’ chunk of scrap metal comes back this way, makin’ the rounds it was programmed to god knows when. 

“ GREETINGS. CITIZEN. ” 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, did a red-head chick come through here couple days ago? Was maybe sniffin’ around a bit?”

“ AFFIRMATIVE. SHE. ACTIVATED. MY. DEFENSE. SYSTEMS. ”

Heh. So that’s how she did it. “Ah, so, you cleared out these raiders for her, huh?” I give the one at my feet a little kick.

“ NEGATIVE. THIS. BODY. AND. OTHERS. WERE. ALREADY. DEAD. WHEN. I. WAS. ACTIVATED. ”

“...No shit?” 

“ NEGATIVE. FOUR. MORE. ENTERED. AND. I. DISPOSED. OF. THEM. ”

“...Huh. That explains the pile in the front.” I look down at the woman again, and try to imagine that doe-eyed red-head doin’ in these assholes one by one. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally starting to pick up a bit! Should be a little more interesting from here on...hopefully X)


	4. Chapter 4

“Moira!” I burst through the door and stomp in, covered in at least four different kinds of mole rat. More specifically, mole rat blood, mole rat brains, mole rat bone fragments, and mole rat green-fluid-I-don’t-really-want-to-know. Moira’s standing just behind the counter, looking scared out of her wits by my entrance. 

I throw her bullshit ‘repellent’ stick on the counter, which looks like it’s got a new paint job with all the green and red covering it. She glances at the stick, then her eyes roll over me, and the bits of brain that are still sliding down the lapel of my leather jacket, and the bits of bone and splashes of whatever that are dashed across my face. 

“S-so, uh..” she tries to force her peppy tone, but falters.

“Your stick didn’t work.” 

“I, uh..what - “

“Do you wanna guess what it DID do?” Perfect timing for that absconding piece of brain to fall to the counter with a gorey  _ splat _ . I don’t break eye contact with her as I raise my hands to my face and wordlessly mouth ‘BOOM’ as I mime a slow, wide explosion. 

“O-oh.” 

“Yeah,” I smile dryly. “ ‘Oh’. I want extra.”

“W-well, I mean, maybe we can talk about -”

“Talk about what? About how I nearly got my ass fuckin’ barbequed, too?” 

“What?”

I sigh, running a hand over my goop covered hair as I turn and slump into a nearby chair. She grimaces, but I don’t give a shit. “When I was comin’ back to town, I cut by the Super Duper Mart and this fuckin’  _ kid _ comes runnin’ at me out of nowhere. Says his parents disappeared or somethin’. Turns out they, and the whole fuckin’ little village he was livin’ in, all got fuckin’ devoured by, get this,” I lean forward, planting my elbows on my knees and gesturing for emphasis. “Giant,  _ fire-breathing  _ **_ants_ ** .”

“Ohh...” she breathes, like she knows exactly what the fuck I’m talking about.

I throw myself backwards and stare into the ceiling. “The whole fuckin’ town man. This kid’s like, eight. Parents, gone, friends, gone, almost anyone who could possibly give a shit about him, gone. Just like that. _Eight_ _years old_ dude. Fuck.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. “What happened to him?” She asks quietly, trying to be respectful, so I lay off the attitude a little. 

“I brought him back here. Says he’s got an aunt in Rivet City. I dunno where that is, so I gave him some caps and told him to wait for the next caravan to come through. He oughta be able to pay for passage at least. Or stay here. I dunno. I dunno.” She’s silent again, and this time it just pisses me off. I know what she’s really thinking, she’s just too sweet to say it out loud. “What was I supposed to do?!” I shout, jumping up and startling her again. “I barely know what I’m doing, and he’s just a little kid. I can’t fuckin’ escort him across god knows what to god knows where. I can barely take care of myself! At least a caravan’s got guards with guns who can give him some kind of fuckin’ protection.” 

Christ. Eight years old. I thought I had it rough, leaving the vault as a fully grown adult to find a parent who’s still alive - as far as I know, at least. What would I have even done? What if that had been me? What if that had been my  _ kid _ ? 

_ Christ _ .

There’s several long moments of silence. Neither of us know what to say now, so I fall back into the chair and rest my head back against the wall. What a fuckin day.

“Oh!” She perks up, and I close my eyes to pray for patience. “I forgot to tell you. A man came through here looking for you.” 

I snap my head up so quickly I think I got whiplash. “What?” 

“I didn’t get his name, he just came in and asked if you were around. He said -” 

My heart practically stops. “What did he look like?”

“Uhm, well, he was kinda handsome, wore sunglasses and a pale -” 

My stomach drops. For a brief, fleeting moment, I had allowed myself to believe the fantasy that Dad just happened to walk back into town. But wait; sunglasses...the guy from the bar? What could he possibly want? “What did he say?”

“He said that he had a proposition for you, and that he’d be at Moriarty’s.”

Moriarty’s? That’s...odd. Maybe that’s his usual haunt and he just happened to swing by the Brass Lantern for some reason. But he wants to see me...? Suddenly, rather than the lump of iron it had been, my heart starts...fluttering a little. He wants to see  _ me _ ? I take two steps towards the door and halt, remembering I’m covered in at least three kinds of bodily fluid. I don’t  _ mean  _ to look at Moira as desperately as I do, but I must’ve betrayed myself because she gives me this stupid wide grin. 

“Need to powder your nose?” She chimes. “You can use my shower if you like, just there, through the back.” She points to a door in the back corner, and everything else I’ve ever felt about Moira is replaced with utter gratitude.

“Thanks, Moira. Forget what I said about owin’ extra. I still want paid though!” I shout as I pass through the door. It takes me to a short hallway with a storage shelf at the end, stacked to the brim with more merch. To the right is a closed door, inside being the actual bathroom. 

Now  _ this  _ is what I’m talkin’ about. An actual  _ clean  _ tub and toilet. The sink is broken, but as long as the shower head isn’t, who cares. It’s even  _ warm _ . I don’t know exactly why I’m rushing - there’s no need to really, and this is the first hot shower I’ve had in a week, but I’m just dying to know what this ‘proposition’ is. I take just a little more advantage of Moria’s hospitality and use some of her personal body wash. I need to be frugal with my supply, and hers smells better anyway.

I change into my clean - well, fresher, at least - jeans and one of my new shirts, grab my bag, and meet Moira back at the counter. She hands me a satchel of caps, I thank her again, and start heading up towards Moriarty’s. The closer I get there, the harder and faster my heart pounds in my chest. Jesus, Blake, what the hell do you think is gonna happen? I hesitate for just a second at the door, then push inside. 

Just like at the Brass Lantern, I do a sweep of the room. And just like at the Brass Lantern, my heart sinks a little when I don’t see him. Only, more than a little. I look again, but, maybe I just beat him here? So I go to the bar while I wait. 

“Hey, Gob.” 

He smiles. I think. “ Heya Blake. ” he says in his gravelly voice. “ What can I getcha? ” 

“Whiskey. Please.” 

He nods and fetches the glass. When he doesn’t say anything, I pick up the gap. “How’ve you been? Been a few days.” 

He glances nervously over his shoulder. “ Oh, y’know. Gettin’ by. Is that all? ”

“Yeah, thanks.” I deflate a little. He seems to like talking to people, or at least to me, but he’s so afraid of that fuckin’ prick that- Ah. Speak of the Devil, and He shall appear. Moriarty himself materializes, I’m pretty sure in a puff of smoke, and goes straight for Gob. Doesn’t even glance my way. Yet.

“Y’get that fockin’ radio werkin’ yet?” 

“N-no boss, all’s I can get is the Enclave-” His sentence is cut off by the back of Moriarty’s hand. That didn’t take long. 

“Fockin’ werthless, y’are. Can’t pour a decent drink t’save yer own mum’s life an’ even the radio fockin’ escapes ye. Loathsome piece a-”

“Don’t  _ fuckin _ talk to him like that!” I bark, and even though my eyes are ablaze on Moriarty, I can feel other eyes turning towards me as well. Complete silence falls over the bar as he looks me over. Nothing more than mere mutterings resume when he walks slowly over. I’m surprised at how calm I am. 

“Well, well, well. If it esn’t our wee li’le lamb. Wastes ain’t got th’better of ye yet, ey luv?” I only glare in reply. “Did ye foind dear ol’ dad yet?” Tread fucking carefully, Moriarty. “Hide nor hair? Nor corpse? Better hurry Li’le Red, or you’ll be sure t’foind at least the one.”

Sneering, I open my mouth to tell him I’ll make him a fuckin’ corpse if he wants one, but  behind him, Gob catches my attention, shaking his head vigorously with a pleading look in his eyes.  I exhale like a bull, or a machine blowing off excess steam. “Guess I’d better be on my way then.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, knowing I’d pulled the punch. “I guess you’d better.” 

“After I get my fuckin’ drink.” 

He smirks in a way that I fucking hate, and moves out of the way. “Get back t’werk.” He snaps at Gob, who flinches and hurries back over to the bar. Moriarty disappears back behind his curtain, which had it been a door, might have slammed. Instead, it just flaps anticlimacticly. 

“ You really shouldn’t have said that. ” 

“He really shouldn’t treat you like that.” I snap, some of my temper spilling onto Gob by mistake. “Sorry. He just - ”

“ I know. ” He says, then puts the drink in front of me. “ On the house. ” 

I smile, and this time I’m sure - he smiles back. I take a deep drink, and already I’m getting used to the sting of it. Then I remember, “Hey, not to get you in any more trouble, but did a, a man in sunglasses come in here? Possibly asking for me?” 

He thinks for a minute. “ Well, a guy with glasses came in, but he didn’t say nothin. Just went to sit in that room there. ” 

He points over my shoulder, to the room that shoots off to the right from the entrance. “Thanks.” I grab my drink and head around the corner. The room is small, only three tables inside, and only one of them occupied. There, I spot a man in sunglasses, but not the same one from the Lantern. He looks taller, maybe just thinner. Besides the sunglasses, he's wearing a pale pinstripe suit and a horrible matching hat. 

He must feel me staring at him, because he looks up from his book, directly at me, and smiles. “You must be Blake.” He says in a voice that sounds like grease.

“Who's asking?”

He actually removes his hat and bows. I look around to make sure I am actually still in Megaton and not Cinderella. “My name is Mister Burke. I promise not to take up too much of your time. I have a letter here for you, essential that it be delivered promptly, and directly, to you.” Then he holds out an envelope with some kind of wax seal of an ornate ‘T’, my name written on the back in calligraphic letters. 

I stare at it for a moment. ‘Mister’ Burke continues to smile at me. “Who’s it from?”

His smile doesn’t falter. “Someone with a lot of power and very little patience, Miss Blake.” That almost sounds like a threat. Out of curiosity, I take the letter and open it. Burke bows a little and picks up his travelling coat from the chair.

> _ Miss Blake, _
> 
> _ Someone of your esteemed background must undoubtedly see Megaton in the same, shall we say, “unfavorable” light as I. I have an exceptional proposition for you, if you would care to meet me at  _

 

I don’t bother reading the rest. The hell is he talking about, ‘unfavorable?’ I skim the rest of the letter, catching words like ‘remove’, ‘blight’, and ‘reward’. 

“Burke!” I call out, hoping to catch him before he leaves. He’s right at the door, and I shove the crumpled note into his hand. “Not fucking interested.” 

He ain’t smiling now. “Miss Blake, if you would take a day to consider -”

“No.” I interrupt. His stare turns into a scowl. 

“My boss has an exceptional offer that you-”

“Shove it up your ass, Burke.”

He looks completely appalled, like he’s never heard someone swear in his life.“I’m afraid you’ve just made a very regretful decision.”

“Oh I’ve made plenty of those, but this isn’t one of them. Bye now.” He looks around at the rest of the bar, most of which has their eyes on him, and leaves, slamming the door as he goes. I sit back down at the bar for two seconds before,

“Excuse me?” 

_ Sigh.  _ “Yes?” I snap, immediately regretting it when I turn around and see a shy looking blonde girl. “Sorry. What is it?” 

“Sorry if this is weird, but, you’re the one that’s been helping Walter, right? And cleared out the Super Duper Mart?” 

More flashes of blood and dead bodies and that fucking woman’s  _ eyes _ . That complete look of shock and terror and confusion as she sinks to the ground. I can’t get them out of my mind. Even when I close my eyes, trying to force myself to focus, I still hear the gurgling sounds they made as blood filled their lungs and throat. “What if I did?” She smiles weakly.

“Um, listen, I know it’s really out of nowhere, but I was hoping I could hire you to do a job for me. Nothing dangerous or anything!” She adds quickly at seeing the look on my face. “I just want you to deliver a message. That’s all. I would do it myself but, to be frank, I don’t know the first thing about using a gun. I came into town with a caravan, I don’t think I could make the trip back on my own. But I figure, if you can handle a whole pack of Raiders, then...well, would you?” 

Whole pack of raiders. I see a fresh image of each dead body in my mind with each word and it makes my stomach twist. I have to think for a few seconds before I answer. I’ve got my own timeframe to think about, after all. “How far?” I don’t bother to hide my impatience.

“I-it’s about a three hour trip one way. But I’ll pay you for the whole thing.” I guess I’m thinking about it too long, cause she pipes up again a few seconds later. “Please? I could really use your help. It’s a letter to my family, I haven’t heard from them in months and I’m getting really worried.” Well, shit. Way to get me right in my soft spot. 

I check the time on my pip-boy, and it’s already late afternoon. If not for Moira’s incredible generosity, I’d be getting ready to slip off to the bathrooms for a quick shower before dinner. “Alright, fine. I’ll head out first thing tomorrow morning. Where am I going?” 

“Oh, thank you! You’re going to Arefu, which is a small settlement to the northwest. If you follow the river, you’ll see it just after the - ” I hold out my arm, the area map displayed on the pipboy screen. “Oh, uh, right about...there.” She taps the screen and a little marker appears just after the bend in the river.

“Great. Where can I find you to let you know it’s done?” 

“Here. I just bought a tiny shack in town, so you’ll be able to find me pretty easily. Lucy, by the way.” 

She holds out her hand, which I shake as a matter of business. “Blake.” 

“Thank you so much Blake. Really. This means a lot.” 

I smile. “Sure.” She leaves, and I’m left with the resounding thought that a small .32 was barely enough to handle a single building. A three hour walk, one way? I’m gonna need something bigger.

 

My second entrance into Craterside Supply is much more polite than it had been earlier. Moira is still perched behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. She does a double take as I enter, popping up and coming around to greet me. 

“Hey!! So, how did it go?” She asks coyly. 

“What?” 

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me young lady! I saw the look on your face when I told you about that mysterious stranger.” 

“...Oh! Right. Not, uh. Not who I thought it was.” 

“Oh,” She deflates. “so who was it?” 

I wave it off like shooing away a fly. “No one of importance. Listen, I -”

“Who did you  _ think  _ it was?” She leans in with a horrible smirk. 

“Nevermind that, I need to talk business.” She smirks wider, and I’m really hoping it’s for some other reason than the light burning I feel in my cheeks. 

“Fine, fine. What can I do for ya?” She resumes her place behind the counter.

I set down the little satchel of caps she gave me earlier, plus the tiny six-shooter she so charitably donated a few days ago. I can’t even look at it without the memories popping up in vivid detail. I wonder briefly if they’re coming in smaller waves, or if I’m just getting used to seeing them.

“I need a new gun.” I say flatly. 

“Mm...” That’s not a promising ‘mm’. More like a weighing-of-the-prospects ‘mm’. 

“Moira. I was covered in four different bits of mole rat today, and then I got myself nearly lit on fire six times after that because I was out helping you write this fucking book. For that, plus the caps, plus the trade, you can give me a new fuckin’ gun.” 

“Alright, alright! Jeez,  _ someone’s  _ wearing their cranky pants today!” 

I shake my head as she turns to the locked cupboards behind her, but forget all annoyances when she places a big square gun on the table in front of me. 

“10 mil. Semi-automatic, bit heavier. Ammo is more expensive, too. Higher demand, you understand!” She says ever so sweetly. 

“Perfect. Gimme a box.” She doesn’t move, and shrinks back a little when I look at her. “Oh, come on!” Still nothing. “Fine.” I reach into my backpack and fish out another, slightly larger, but less full bag that has my remaining finances, and drop a handful on the counter. “What’ll that get me?” 

She lights up again, probably glad I didn’t argue with her on it, and puts three ten-round magazines on the counter. Better than what I was hoping for, at least. 

“Great. I got another job tomorrow, but I’ll be back after that to see what insanity you need doing for the next chapter.” 

“See you then! If you get grievously injured, try to get back here before you die!” She chimes as I walk out the door. Sweet girl, that Moira. 

 

More nightmares, but I manage to sleep through them this time. In the morning, I’m up, fed, packed up and on the road before 10 AM. For good measure, I went back to Craterside supply and bought another magazine, as well as picked up an old lead pipe from Walter. It seemed a little unnecessary, as I only encountered three bloatflies and a feral dog on the way, but with the pipe in hand I was able to save on bullets, so that counts for something. 

I don’t immediately spot the town at first. Of course, Lucy didn’t give me specific coordinates, but if I’m in the general area, you’d think a whole settlement wouldn’t be hard to miss. Well, it is when the settlement is up atop one of the collapsed highway overpasses. Just as I’m heading up the ramp, a shot rings out and a chunk of concrete blows up at my feet.

I shout and stumble back, immediately raising my arms over my head. In hindsight, a dumb move, I should’ve gone for my own gun instead. “Woah! Friendly here!” I call up to the sandbag wall that’s a few yards ahead. I see a head pop up from behind it, and a second later the person stands, holding up one of their hands as well - the other still seems to be around their rifle. “Thought you were one of them! Get up here, quick!” 

Don’t gotta tell me twice. I barely get to him when he’s yelling again. “Hurry it’d up, before they see you!” 

“Before who see’s me?” 

“The Family!” 

“...Who?” 

He looks out over the ramp and waves me over behind the sandbags. “The Family. They’re this group’a lowlife gangers who get off on givin’ our little town all kinds’a hell.” 

Oh boy. “ ‘Gangers’? Like raiders or something?”

“No, no, nothing like that. At least not yet. All they’d ever do is typical gang bullshit for a while. Break stuff, vandalize the store, that sort of thing. But this last time, they just killed all our brahmin! That’s our livestock, our livelihood!”

Brahmin? I could understand  _ stealing _ , but what good comes out of just killing brahmin? “Do you think it’s like, a warning or something?” 

“I don’t know. They’ve got guns and they got muscle, I’m sure they could’ve cleared us out by now if they really wanted to. That’s why I’m watchin’ the ramp here, just in case they decide to get brave. We don’t really know where they....hey now...” 

He looks down, and following his gaze goes right to my pip-boy. Oh no...here we go. 

“That there’s a pip-boy, ain’t it?”

For a split second, I consider just lying. But he’s already seen it, so what can I say? “Yeah...” 

He chews on his lip for a second, staring at it and mulling over some thought. “Listen, if you’d be interested,” but he’s interrupted by someone else approaching, this time from the tiny village, wearing a long brown duster and thick...sunglasses...? 

“Hey Evan, I’m gonna -” he spots me staring. Holy shit. It’s the guy from the bar. 

“Whaddyou want, Jack?” The old man - Evan, apparently - snaps. 

“I uh...” The fellow named Jack breaks his attention away from me and back to Evan. “I’m gettin’ ready to head out. 

“Great,” Evan says coldly, “You can take her with you.”

“What?!” Jack and I both shout in almost perfect unison, glance at each other, and then immediately continue talking over one another with our respective objections. 

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Evan shouts, silencing both of us. “You’ve been combin’ the hills for ‘em for weeks now, that pip-boy there’ll give you a better chance of findin’ their hideout than you’ve ever had on your own. And she’ll at least be able to see it once you get there.”

What’s that supposed to mean? I glance over at Jack’s sunglasses, only he’s already staring at me. Is he...blind? 

“And you,” Evan directs at me. “I’ll pay you. We’re not made of caps out here, and even less so now that we need t’get some more brahmin. But you’ll get caps, and some supplies from the store if you need em. Whatever it takes for you t’take the job.”

I let out a sigh that shifts to a groan that shifts to an annoyed exclamation. “Look, I came to deliver a message. That’s all. In and out.”

“Well, I hope it’s a goodbye letter, ‘cause we all might be gutted here pretty soon.” 

God _ damnit _ . Always fuckin something! I pinch the bridge of my nose in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in my head. “...FINE. I expect to be paid, as well as dinner and a place to stay, since I won’t be getting back to Megaton tonight.” 

“Oh come on.” Jack protests further. “I’m already ready to go, why can’t I just-”

“Where can I find David West?” The sooner I get this over with, the better. Evan turns to Jack, and jerks his head towards the little shanty town.

“If you’re in such a rush, help her with the delivery and you’ll be on your way.” 

Jack stares at Evan for a moment before slowly turning and grunts “C’mon Red.” 

“Blake.” I correct him, again. It’s been a few days though, so he gets one free pass. One. 

“Right. Whatever.” 

What the hell? He was so buddy-buddy at the bar and now he’s got a giant stick up his ass.“You’re a lot more charming with alcohol.”

“Most people are.” This is gonna be fun. He leads me down the single street with houses dotting either side. There’s no one outside. Doors are shut, and even some windows are boarded up. All it needs to complete the scene is for a tumbleweed to roll by. Which it might have, if we weren’t a few miles up on a highway overpass.

Finally he directs me towards a medium sized house squished between another smaller one and the concrete side of the highway. 

I knock on the door and call for David, with no answer. Not even the scuffle of someone moving towards or away from the door. I wait a little longer and knock again - still nothing. One more try. 

“Sorry to disturb you, I’m looking for David...?” I lean in to the door, hoping to hear anything, but instead I smell something. Something bad. I glance back towards Jack, who upon seeing the look on my face, pushes up from the highway barrier he was leaning on. “Do you smell that?” I ask. He only takes one step and pauses as he inhales. Then he jerks his head towards the door, urging me inside. 

I turn the knob easily - it’s unlocked. With as much security as I’ve seen in the rest of the village so far, that doesn’t strike me as a good sign. Ugh, god. Pushing the door open sends a wave of the smell of decay that makes me cover my face. Jack follows me inside, and we immediately see two bodies, one draped over the bed in the corner, and one on the floor at the foot of it. 

“What the hell...” As if two dead bodies weren’t enough, the scene is just...gruesome. Horrific, even. Both bodies bring to mind the image of a dead spider; curled into itself, shriveled and dried up. Their backs are arched, almost like a fetal position, but not quite. Their legs and arms are slightly tucked in, their fingers and toes curled in completely. And the skin is...the only word that comes to mind is ‘shriveled’. 

“...This doesn’t make sense...” I absent mindedly mutter aloud, kneeling down to examine who I can only assume used to be David West. 

“What doesn’t?” Jack asks. I’d almost forgotten he was there. 

“I...these bodies. The skin hasn’t decayed more than a few days worth, but it’s...?” I lose my train of thought when I see a deep bite mark on the side of his neck. One that looks like...but no, it can’t be. It can’t be  _ human _ teeth, can it? I turn left and right, looking all over the house. There’s a few splashes of blood around the carpet, but tiny amounts. I lost more blood when I was grazed by that bullet. 

“This doesn’t make any sense.” I say again, looking up at Jack who is still waiting for an explanation. “There’s...there’s  _ bite marks _ on their neck that I’m...I’m very certain came from a human. But the most alarming part is...” It sounds too crazy to say out loud. “There’s no blood. Outside  _ or _ inside their bodies.” I trail off, wondering if Jack will come to the same outrageous conclusion I do. Do they have stories about vampires out in the Wastes? 

He hesitates, then walks over to David’s body, checking the spots on his neck where the bite mark is. Then he checks David’s arms, and even shifts the body around to check the inside of his thighs. He stares at the bite mark again for a few seconds, then stands upright and walks to the door. “We should get going.”

“Do you think this is the,” what was it? “The Family?” 

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t say anything at all until a few minutes later. “We’ve narrowed it down to two - well, technically three - places they might be.” Jack explains, leading me back towards the rampart. “Evan insists they might be at Hamilton’s Hideaway, a sort’ve cave place nearby, but I know that area. They won’t be in there. He also wants us to check the old outdoor cinema, but that place is completely in the open. No kinda building or cover or chunk of rock to hide behind. They’d be out in the open and we’d have found ‘em already. So far that just leaves the old metro station. That place makes the most sense to me for a hideout.” 

I’m only half listening as we walk along. What the hell am I going to tell Lucy? God. First the Super Duper Mart, then the kid from Greyditch, now this. So much death...so much death in this world. I steer off from Jack for a moment. Evan should probably know as well, at the very least before the stink reaches the neighbors. 

“Evan?” 

He keeps his back to me, eyes staring straight down the decline. “What?” 

I pause, hoping he’ll turn to face me. I don’t know why, just feels more...respectful that way. But he doesn’t. “David and...” Oh, fuck. I never learned Lucy’s mom’s name. “...His wife are uh. Both dead.” 

He turns his neck so quick it looks like it was snapped by a ghost. “What?!” 

“I’ve just been to their house, and no one was answering, and I could smell - the door was unlocked, and I- their - they were both -” 

“They’re dead, Evan.” Jack finishes for me impatiently. How tactful.

“Damn it...damn it! Sons of bitches! You find ‘em, Jack, you find ‘em and you - wait.” Evan turns to me, a little wide-eyed. “You saw David and Matilda’s body? That’s it?” 

Ah, Matilda. “Y...yes?”

“Their son, Ian, wasn’t there?”

Son? Lucy didn’t mention having a brother. H-oh boy. “No, no sign of him.” 

Evan swears and kicks the sandbag wall, which as one might imagine, doesn’t work out so well for him. “This  _ has _ to be the work of The Family, I know it! I’ve seen Ian hangin’ around by the river with that leader of theirs. Well? What else are you waiting for?! Get movin’!”

Well that was abrupt. I turn to Jack to share a look of indignation, but he’s already walking down the ramp. I don’t think I could have seen any look from his anyway, with those thick sunglasses.

“So, where we headed?” I ask, catching up to him.

“You tell me.” He waves a hand at my wrist. “I’ve got some idea where the metro station is, but apparently that gadget’s gonna know better than I do.”

“Uh...” I fumble with it a little bit. In the vault, I could make a pip-boy do damn near anything anyone wanted just short of actually pouring a cup of coffee. But there’s new information out here, information I don’t know how to work with. Looks like I eventually get some kind of satellite shot. “Okay, gimme the general location?”

“North.” 

“...North?”

“S’a bit north of Arefu. Somewhere between here and Paradise Falls.”

Paradise Falls? That sounds nice. Must be awful. “Where’s that?”

He slows a little. “Where’s Paradise Falls?” He asks indignantly. “Oh, right. Vault. It’s uh, bout two miles north. Big place.” For the first time, he turns towards me. “Don’t go there.”

O-kay. “What is it?” 

“A strip mall-turned-slaver ring. If you thought the wasteland was bad, hah. Just, steer clear of it.”

“Right. Duly noted. Thanks.” 

The rest of the thirty minute walk is completely silent, except for when he lights up a cigarette, and once more when he chews on some breath mints. We don’t even meet a single bloatfly on the way. Call it ancestral memory, call it intuition, call it paranoia, but that’s got me nervous. 

As we approach the metro station, my nerves are proven right. Before I even have any idea where it’s coming from, gunfire erupts around us. Shit. Raiders? Jack shoves me to the side, behind a cement half-wall. I hear his gun go off twice before I even have mine out of my belt. It’s  _ loud _ , his gun. I glance over to see what it is, but all I can tell is that it’s some kind of revolver. A lot bigger and with a longer barrel than the .32 I used to have. 

Now that I’ve had a minute to get oriented, I peek up over the concrete and get a glimpse of four people, some leaning out from their own cover and others advancing on ours. Even worse, they’re not raiders. Whoever they are, they’re wearing body armor. Doing the only thing I can do, I point my barrel at one of them and pull the trigger as many times as it takes for them to go down.

The first one does, and I get three bullets in the next before I duck back into cover to reload. In my peripheral, I can see Jack glancing my direction. His gun goes off one more time, and when I look back over the barricade, I see the guy I’d just been chipping away at fall into a slump. 

“Nice.” I say as I pick my next target. 

“You’re really not very good with that, are you?” He says, and my mouth gapes a little. Even if he is right, fucking  _ rude _ .

“Well  _ excuse me  _ for only having a few days - Jack!” One of them comes up right behind him. Jack turns, just in time to knock their barrel aside, grabbing their wrist as he does so. In the same motion, he jerks them forward and thrusts the butt of his revolver into their throat. They fall to the ground and make a horrific gargling sound, clawing at their throat until they slowly stop moving altogether. 

He shoots the other two down while I’m still staring at the first body. How did he learn how to do  _ that _ ? An eerie silence falls after the last body drops to the ground. The next sound is of his bullet casings clattering on the concrete as he reloads. 

“Looks like that’s all of em. You alright?” He’s already on his feet and looking at me, but I’m still staring at the guy with the collapsed windpipe. What a way to go. “Y-yeah, fine. Sorry.” Even after I stand, he’s still staring at me. “What?” 

“How many more clips do you have?”

“Including this one, three. Why?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, a common stress marker. “You oughta be more conservative with your shots. It’s all well and good if you’re gonna be holed up in Megaton for the rest of your life, but out here there’s no knowin’ where your next bullet’s comin from. Sometimes y’get lucky and can lift ‘em off the guy you just killed. But relyin’ on luck’ll get you killed faster’n spittin’ at a deathclaw.” A  _ what? _ I may be new. I may be a novice. But I ain’t dumb enough to think for one second that anything called a ‘deathclaw’ is something I ever want to come across. “All I’m sayin’ is, you got a real spray-and-pray approach, and it ain’t gonna keep you alive long. An’ I don’t wanna burn through all  _ my _ ammo just tryin’ to keep your ass alive. Be deliberate. Go for the head if you can, quickest, cleanest, almost always guaranteed kill. If y’can’t do that, go fer one’ve their arteries. Blow off their arm or a chunk’ve their thigh, they’ll be done in seconds. Can’t do that, disable em. Take out an ankle or knee cap, keep ‘em from comin’ after ya ‘til y’can finish ‘em off.”

Jesus. I wasn’t aware there was a hierarchy for how to fucking kill someone. “R...right. Right, okay. ” 

“What’ve you got there? 10mil?”

“Yeah.”

He kneels down and rifles through the pockets of the guy at our feet. He pulls out a handful of bullets that even  _ I _ can see are not for my gun. 

“Just 308’s on this guy. Keep an eye out, though. Even if they ain’t got what yer lookin’ for, y’can always sell the rest.”

“That, I did know.” I say with a dry smile. “Sometimes I can be clever.” 

So, he can smile. He pulls out his mint tin, pops two in his mouth, and moves around the cement barrier to stop at the next body and go through their pockets. He glances back towards me, still standing where I am, and gestures to the body a few feet to his right. “That one’s yours.”

Oh. Right. Going through the pockets gives me some shotgun shells and a moderately sized, badass looking knife. I don’t know immediately what I’d use it for, but I imagine it’ll be one of those ‘better to have and not need’ kind of things. I hold it up to see what Jack thinks of it. He barely glances at it, shrugs, and then moves on to the next body. Going over it, I suppose I did only take the one of them down. Damn. Guess if I want the loot, I gotta do the work.

“Well, well, well.” Jack says loudly, standing upright while reading a piece of paper. “Aren’t we the troublemaker?” He looks my way while waving the little paper around and smirking. 

“What?” I grab it from him, and it’s such scribbled writing, I can barely read it.

> _Boys and girls, we've got ourselves another holier-than-thou white knight who needs putting down. Here are the details: Female, red hair, goes by Blake. Black jacket with green snake on back. The bounty is 1000 caps this time around. And for a change of pace, they want the head this time. Good hunting!_

 

He lights up another cigarette while I read, and gets a few good exhales in while I continue to stare at the paper. I can’t even begin to think why...or  _ who _ ...

“Who the fuck did you manage to piss off so badly in a single week, they take out a professional hit?” 

I look up at him, blink, and stare as I try to think of anyone that might fit the profile. The first one that comes to mind is Moriarty, but if he wanted to kill me, he’d just fuckin do it. “I don’t...uh...” Wait a minute. That Burke bastard comes to mind. Said I made a mistake, that his boss was powerful and short tempered. “Ohh...”

“Good t’see yer makin’ friends. C’mon. Play yer cards right, maybe y’can get a second bounty before sunset. Uh,” he glances nervously at my pistol. “Why don’t you go ahead of me.” 

I click my tongue. I’m not THAT bad of a...well, okay, fine. Pocketing the note, I lead us down the stairs and through the rusted, screechy chain link fence into the darkness of the subway tunnels. At the bottom of the stairs is about what I’d expect; trash, rubble and debris lining each wall and spilling over the floor. There’s a barrel with a fire going, though, so someone must be down here. We walk forward a few steps when I notice something up ahead. 

“Mole rats.” I tell Jack, who immediately draws his revolver again, but I put my hand out. “What happened to ‘every bullet is a gift from god’?” I jibe teasingly.

“I never said -” 

“I got this.” But instead of raising my pistol, I slip it back into my belt and reach around to grab that ‘repellent’ stick of Moira’s. Oddly enough, once she found out what it actually did, she didn’t want it anymore. Can’t imagine why. Dead useful, pun intended. 

I walk forward, and I can hear the ‘are you crazy’ in Jack’s voice when he says “Uhh, Blake?” 

“HEY batter-batter!” I call out, making the two mole rats ahead jump and immediately charge towards me. “HEY batter-batter, hey, SWING BATTER!” Followed by the lovely sound of a bursting skull. One more swing down, and the second one bites the dust. Since there are only two at ground level, I only get a little splatter across my jeans. I wait for a moment, one hand on my gun, to see if the commotion draws up anything else from the depths of the metro, but nothing stirs. 

As I walk back to Jack, I swing my backpack around to reattach the mole rat stick.

“...That was disgusting.” 

“You don’t get to complain, you don’t have to wash it out of your pants later.” I smirk up at him for a second, but fall into quizzical silence when I see he’s still wearing his sunglasses. “Can you even see down here with those on?” 

“Yes.” He answers curtly, stepping around me to keep walking. 

“ _ How _ ?” 

“Whaddyou mean, how?”

“They’re dark enough I can barely see you’ve got eyes at all when we’re standing in direct sunlight. How can you possibly see anything down here?” 

“I just can, alright? Don’t worry about it.” 

I walk beside him in silence, and after a moment, god help me, I reach out and wave my hand in front of his face.

“I’m not blind!” He snaps, making me jump and rip my hand back like it just triggered a bear trap. 

“S-sorry! Sorry! I just - I thought - I...sorry.” My heart pounds, more out of embarrassment than anything else. 

“Forget it.” 

“Who’s there?!” A voice calls out from ahead, and Jack and I both immediately go for our guns. He draws his, while I keep mine in my belt. Should I draw, too?

“Show yourself!” Jack barks.

“We’re friendly’s!” I say in addition. “If you are, too.”

A single head pokes out from inside a door frame. From what I can see, it looks like...Gob? 

“Y-you’re not here to steal my secrets? Are you?”

“Step out here, and keep your hands where I can see ‘em!” Jack barks.

“Shut up!” I snap at him, then return to the newcomer. There’s something in his voice that’s almost childish. Afraid, even. “No, we’re not here to take anything of yours. We’re looking for someone.” After a moment, he finally steps out a little more. Jack tenses up beside me, so I take a step forward and assert my command over the situation. Now that I can see this guy in a little better light, he looks just different enough for me to realize he’s not Gob. Whatever happened to Gob, though, happened to this guy, too. Rotted skin, chunks of hair. Curious. “Have you heard of, uh, ‘The Family’?” 

He scoffs. “Have I heard of The Family. Look, I don’t bother you guys, you don’t bother me! That was the deal!”

“No, we’re not - we’re looking for them.” 

“Where are they?” Jack demands more than asks, and I shoot him a glare over my shoulder. The stranger pauses, but answers anyway.

“They live a bit more to the east from here. Keep goin along the tracks, it’ll take y’straight there.” 

“Great, thanks.” I turn back towards Jack, who still has his fucking gun out. “C’mon, John Wayne, let’s get moving.” He hesitates, then holsters his gun reluctantly. The stranger goes back into the room he’d been peeking out of, closing the door behind him. I wait until we’re further down the stairs and on the tracks before I stop short and round on Jack. “What the hell was that?!”

I barely come up to his chin but he still stumbles backwards in surprise. “What?!” 

“Keepin’ yer fuckin gun on him, barkin’ orders at’im like you’re a goddamn marshall!” 

He gapes at me. “That was me defendin’ my own fuckin-”

“He didn’t even do anything!”

“And what if he had? How d’you know he wasn’t gonna come around that corner with a goddamn machine gun and mow us down just for the fuckin pleasure of it?” 

“I...he would’ve -” 

“No, he wouldn’t have. Whatever you’re thinking, no. You can’t just - !” He rolls his head back and groans. “I dunno what kinda fuckin’ story book you come from, but out here you gotta assume  _ everyone  _ is out t’kill you. Cause they are. Always,  _ always  _ be on your guard, cause the second that you’re not is gonna be the split second it takes for a bullet to go through your skull.” 

I feel my face burning with anger and embarrassment. Now that I’m saying it outloud, he’s right. I know he’s right. But it still don’t sit right with me, even though I don’t know why. “Well...he...you...you didn’t have to be so  _ rude _ !” His jaw drops a little, and like the twelve year old I am, I turn on my heel and start walking away. That’ll show him.  

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He shouts after me while keeping pace. “Next time I’ll be sure to ask  _ politely, ‘ _ Excuse me sir, are you intending on killing us when you come around the corner? Because if so, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d let me know so I can -’ “ 

There’s a large clanging sound in the distance, and we both fall completely silent. I draw my gun, but this time Jack does not. 

“Hello?” I call. Silence. I glance at Jack, who is the absolute image of irritation, and continue walking forward. “Hello?” I try again, and this time I can hear...something. Some kind of pattering noise that, in an instant, is shown to be another zombie-looking person, hauling ass barefoot over the concrete. But this one isn’t like Gob. Its clothes are ragged, almost completely worn away, and there’s a glossiness to its eyes. If there were any lingering doubt, it’s dismissed when the thing emits a horrible, hissing howl. 

It barrels towards me, hands out front and swiping wildly like a desperate animal. It’s like every god-awful, cheesy horror movie we ever watched in the vault. Only in real life, and it’s actually completely terrifying. It’s all I can do not to just scream and run as fast as I can the other direction. Instead, I swing my gun to level and start firing.  The bullets that actually hit tear through its arms and shoulder, making it stumble but it carries on, coming right towards me. 

Okay yep, time to run. As soon as I start to turn the thing fucking  _ leaps _ at me. “Excuse me,” Jack says, totally calm as it tackles me to the ground. You’ve got to be _ fucking kidding me _ . It takes both my arms to hold the fucking thing up while it’s snapping at my face. I dropped the gun as I went down, no idea where it flew to. “Terribly sorry to disturb you.” 

“Jack!” God, the  _ smell _ . I think I might hurl. It keeps trying to knock my arms away, but it’s uncoordinated so I’m able to keep a hold; barely.

“We’re just passing through, didn’t mean to be a bother.”

“Jack, goddamnit!” 

Finally Jack grabs it by its shoulders and hurls it into the nearest wall. Before it can even stand totally upright, Jack buries his fist into the things face. There’s a terrible cracking, crunching noise, and it falls to the ground and lies still, its skull now a grotesque concave shape. 

He breathes a heavy sigh. “I tried.” He says with a huff. “Some people’s children. Honestly.” He turns to me with the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. And in spite of myself, I’ve got to make a great effort not to fuckin laugh at his goddamn audacity. Can’t stop myself from smiling, though. 

“Asshole.” I’m expecting some sort of ‘I told you so’ speech, but he says nothing. Just helps me to my feet, and points to where my gun went. “...Thanks.” I mutter begrudgingly. “What the hell was that thing?”

“That was a feral. Ain’t like regular ghouls, these ones got their brains melted too or somethin’. Puttin’ a bullet in their head’s almost an act of mercy, if they had any bit of sentience left in ‘em.”

“Feral. Huh. And, ‘regular ghouls’ are like, the dude we just talked to? And Gob?” 

“Yep. Them’re all run-of-the-mill assholes like you n’me.” 

That awful hissing-growling noise echos around the tunnel again, and two more pop up from beside another fire-lit barrel. “Incoming.” Jack says, actually drawing his gun this time. Pop, pop. Well, that fucking piece sounds more like a goddamn canon in the metro tunnels, but besides that, they both go down with one shot each. I gotta learn to shoot like that. 

We keep following the trail of barrel bonfires a while longer until Jack puts a hand out for me to stop, and gestures at a hulking figure standing beside the next beacon - another feral. I turn to Jack, expecting him to take care of it like the last two, but he tilts his chin forward, inviting me up to bat. I draw my pistol, and he holds up a finger for pause. “Use your sights. One finger on the trigger. Inhale, slow exhale, and squeeze, don’t pull. Be ready for the recoil, makes it easier to line up your shot again if you have to. Aim for the head. Ready? Try to get it while it’s not moving. Easier that way.” 

I nod, and try to follow his advice. I look through the sites, lining them up to the shadow of the things head. Deep breath in. Slow breath out, and a squeeze of the trigger. The flash of light that bursts from the gun summons the image of that raider woman from the super duper mart and sends my heart through a loop.  _ Sorry I’m sorry I didn’t want to kill you! _

“Again.” Jack barks. Apparently I missed. The bullet went whizzing just behind its neck, and the shot gave me away. There’s a brief second where it looks around, spots me, and starts barreling towards me. Inhale. Exhale. Squeeze. Damnit! Inhale, exhale, squeeze. Goddamnit! 

Suddenly, Jack’s hand reaches out, and with two fingers beneath my elbow, raises my arm a little higher, and pulls it slightly to the left. Inhale. Exhale. Squeeze.

Headshot. The thing stumbles a few steps forward and collapses to the ground.

“Oh my god! Hah! I did it!” Watch it, Blake, your twelve-year-old is showing again. I bite my lip to try and keep myself from smiling like an idiot. I guess it’s easier when they’re not human. “Hah, um...thanks.” He nods, smirking a little, and we carry on. 

 

It takes a lot longer to get through the tunnels than I expected to. Which is foolish, since if I don’t know where I’m going, how can I expect how long it will take to get there? Either way, we have to go around, between, and through abandoned and fucked up subway cars, sometimes even cutting through maintenance rooms to get around blocked corridors. We encounter a few more ghouls along the way, one of which I’m able to shoot straight through the heart. Purely on luck, but a proud moment nonetheless. 

I’m looking at an old Vault-Tec poster still clinging stubbornly to the wall when someone calls out to us. “Hold it!” We both go for our pistols, but the guy standing ahead of us behind a sandbag wall has got his automatic rifle trained right on us. He’s also wearing some kind of body armor, but different than what was on the guys outside. “This area’s off limits, only The Family is allowed past here.” 

Jack’s fingers index finger moves from alongside the barrel to over the trigger. “Jack,” I put a hand on his gun and push it downwards. “Let. Me. Handle this.” I say firmly, staring daggers into him. 

“Blake--” He sighs with exasperation.

“Hey, if he’s rude, you can shoot him.” I step forward a little, hands up, so the guard’s focus is on me. “That’s who I’m here to see. I am armed, but I have absolutely no intention of using it.”

“She’s shit with it anyway.” Jack pipes up behind me, helpfully or otherwise I’m not yet sure. I would roll my eyes, but I keep my focus on the guard. 

“I just want to  _ talk _ . That’s it. I...have a message for someone. I’ll leave my gun with you if that’s what it takes.” I almost want to say that Jack will, too, but I’m not so certain he wouldn’t shoot  _ me _ just for suggesting it. 

The guard looks me over, then shifts his focus to Jack. “He’s just the muscle.” I say hastily, and I worry for a second that might’ve done more harm than good. “I  _ am _ a shit shot.” 

Finally, the guard lowers his rifle. “Alright. You can come through.” 

Awesome. I start to walk forward and I hear Jack call my name again in a warning tone. “Wait here if you want.” I say without breaking pace. A few more seconds and he catches up, not saying a word. 

When we start to pass the guard, he catches me by the arm. Like a guard dog, Jack stops immediately and puts a hand on his revolver. “You can come through, but I’m warning you: any trouble and we’ll turn you into swiss cheese. Got it?” 

“Loud and clear.” I say plainly, trying to reinforce the idea that I’m not a threat. If we can get through this without a single drop of bloodshed, I’ll hug Moira. 

Once we come through the next door, it’s like a goddamn cathedral. I think it’s meant to be some kind of central concourse, but there’s actual fucking pews lined up to face a second-story platform. Which, of course, is lined with lit, flickering candles to add to the effect. 

A few people are walking around, and I almost expect to see them in some kind of robes or other cult garb. But no, each person has got their own little ensemble of leathers and belts and equipment, and dirty looks they keep throwing our way.

I’m saved the trouble of asking around for anyone, since one of them comes straight to me. Possibly out of nerves, Jack pops a couple more mints. The Family member offers his hand and says in a very rehearsed, diplomatic tone, “Welcome to our home.” I shake his hand and we nod at each other, almost like a little bow. “My people call me Vance. I lead this weary group of outcasts and travellers, and give them a home. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” 

Well that’s a very...rehearsed speech. This guy is not at all what I expected. Vandalism and cow-tipping? Sure. Murder? Not sure it fits. Yet. 

“I’m looking for someone named Ian West.”

“And you are?” He asks, but it comes off as more curious than rude.

“My name is Blake. I have a letter from his sister.” 

Vance’s cool and composed expression slacks for barely an instant. “So, part of his human family still remains? Well then, even more reason for him to be isolated.”

“...What?”

“Ian is scared and confused. He’s starting a new branch of his life that he does not fully understand yet. I’m afraid this information, after all that happened in Arefu, would only make things worse for the poor boy.”

Alright, I’ve tried to go the ‘live and let live’ route, but the more this guy opens his mouth, the less he makes sense. “Just what the hell is going on here?”

He smiles. I’m starting to really hate it when people do that. “Come now. To have come this far, without violence no less, proves that you have at least some intelligence and decorum. You cannot tell me that it hasn’t occurred to you just what we are?” 

I hesitate to say it. It’s so fucking ridiculous I don’t even like thinking it. But if I want this to keep going smoothly, I guess I’ll have to play along. “It has. Still working on the ‘believing it’ part.”

He inclines his head - not quite a nod, more like conceding a point. “The people here, my people, have been given shelter, a sense of belonging, a home. Rather than letting them run rampant in the wastes, following only their basic instincts, I bring them in and teach them to eat not of the flesh, but only of blood.” He gestures to a table a few meters away, where two people sit across in conversation, one of which drinking from an IV bag like a goddamn juice box. 

Jesus fuckin Christ. I can imagine the conversation now; Sorry, Lucy, I did what I could but your brother is a goddamn cannibalistic nutcase and he had to be put down with the rest of them. Yeah, right, that’ll go well. Besides, there’s no way we’re getting out of here alive if my fingertips so much as brush metal. 

“So, Ian’s parents...?” 

Vance glances down to the floor, and speaks with carefully chosen words. “Ian’s hunger for flesh overwhelmed him. Without guidance or a sense of control, it drove him to feast. Had I not intervened - we had meant to meet that night, you see, but when he did not appear I became concerned. And it is good I arrived when I did, else I fear he might have driven himself mad with grief, and a misunderstanding of his own nature.”

Oh my god. If this guy is their  _ leader _ , I can only imagine what the rest of them are like. Alright, this is officially beyond my job description. I need to just deliver the letter and go. “I see.” 

“I realize this must be difficult for you to understand. We are not, I assume, the crazy murderers you expected to find? If you need a moment to take all this in, you are welcome to-”

“No.” I cut him off. “No, I can see that you’re right.” I’m mostly talking out of my ass, but if I’m being honest, it actually does make some kind of sense. Maybe I’ve just been out here too long, or I actually am going crazy. Keep them together, down here, away from people. I guess that’s better than, like he said, just leaving them to their own devices. Assuming the blood bags are, in fact, their source and not just a quick fix. And if he kept Ian from going completely bat-shit, well, that’s something, right? 

Even if I’m not entirely convinced, I need him to think I am. “These people need you. There’s enough death and chaos out there without others succumbing to the same.” Vance looks, I dare say, impressed for just a moment, but it disappears when I continue. “But, I must request that you allow me to deliver this letter. Even if this is Ian’s new home now, that doesn’t mean he has to shed everything about who he used to be. It could offer him some kind of closure he doesn’t otherwise have.”

Vance is quiet for a long moment, pressing a knuckle to his lips as he considers me. “Perhaps we have both misjudged each other. You may speak to him. He is currently meditating through that hallway.” He gestures towards a far side of the room. 

“Thank you, Vance.” Keeping up any degree of decorum is probably in my best interest. We cross the room in silence, and I allow my eyes to wander. I look first through a lense of scrutiny, but the more I see...I don’t know. Fear, loss, confusion, desperation for any kind of guidance, a place to be...nothing I’m unfamiliar with. But have they killed? Will they kill? Is this really a safe haven for lost souls, or a den of beasts? Can a cannibal actually be a decent person?

...What the hell am I thinking?! I saw what this kid did to his own  _ parents _ , that shit is fucked up! But if Vance is to be believed, that’s not common practice. If they can manage to survive on blood -- but then, how do they get the blood? Is it possible this could all be victimless if it’s  _ willingly  _ given? Man, if I’d been told a week ago that I’d be having inner dialogues about the grey morality of cannibalism, I’d be writing a prescription for psychosis so fucking fast.

Once we get further away from the pews and the people, Jack finally pipes up.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at? We oughta just torch this place and be done with the whole goddamn mess. You seriously wanna walk out of here knowin’ these sick fucks are still-”

“I don’t know, Jack.” I snap quietly. If we’re overheard, it’s over. “Maybe you wanna announce a little louder your plans to kill ‘em all for minding their own fucking business.” 

“He killed his own parents!” Jack argues, his voice getting dangerously loud. 

“Shh! I know he did, but, maybe that wouldn’t have happened if he had found this place sooner. I just, I don’t know yet what’s going to happen. I don’t know. But if you wanna go down in a blaze of glory, do it away from me so they don’t take me down with you. If not, then just shut up and let me try to figure this out.” 

“You’re fucking insane.” 

“I’m in good fuckin’ company then, aren’t I?” 

We get to the hallway which only has one door at the end. I knock lightly, asking for Ian. 

“Come in.”

As I enter, it’s clear I’m not who Ian was expecting.

“Who are you? What do you want?” He stands from his chair and starts backing away. I hold my hands up again, like approaching a wild dog. 

“It’s alright. I’m Blake, and I’m here as a friend, okay?” He doesn’t say anything, just waits. “I have a letter from your sister, Lucy.” 

He goes wide-eyed for a second. “Lucy?” 

“She asked me to find you. She’s been really worried.” I hold out the scrappy piece of paper, and he takes it gingerly. I glance at Jack, who looks almost like a child with his scowl and folded arms. A few minutes of silence pass by. Ian’s eyes have stopped dashing back and forth, so now he’s just kind of staring at the letter. Then he looks up at me with a spark in his eyes. 

“I...thank you. Thank you for bringing me this. It’s...things are much more clear now. I’m going to write a reply to my sister, could you please--would you wait until I’m finished so you can bring it back to her? I promise it won’t be long.”

“That’s fine, Ian.” Jack sighs heavily so I add, “Take as long as you need,” out of pure spite. “I’m going to go speak with Vance, just find me whenever you’re done.” 

Jack is almost literally on my heels as I retrace my steps to the main area. “I’m tellin you this is a waste of fuckin’ time. If they go after my blood in the middle of the goddamn night, I’m fuckin’ comin’ for you.”

“You do that.” I’m not interested in arguing this right now. I got shit on my mind. I don’t even know what I’m gonna say to Vance. Part of me wants to ask more questions, but most of me thinks I shouldn’t ask questions I don’t want to know the answers to. Can I put this place behind me and be done with it? Or will I warn Arefu, rally up a little militia and just blow the place to pieces? I can barely entertain the thought as I look around at the people that are here. The looks on their faces, on  _ Ian’s  _ face. On Lucy’s, if she knew...

I’m so distracted by my train of thought, I don’t even realize I’m approaching Vance. When he addresses me, I nearly jump out of my skin. “Did Ian get his letter?”

“Yes, he did. It seemed to make quite a difference.” Vance starts to say something, but this time I cut him off. “But there’s one more thing you and I need to discuss.”

“Oh yes?”

“Arefu.”

His expression shifts, but I can’t tell exactly to what. “As long as you remain this civil, please, proceed.”

“It would appear that a blood pac is sufficient to keep... _ your kind _ satisfied. Am I wrong to assume so?”

He hesitates. “No.” 

“I didn’t think so. And given your diplomacy thus far, am I wrong to assume that maintaining civility is important to you?”

This time he doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

“Alright. Knowing those things, this is my proposition: You back off. Leave them, and their brahmin, alone. In exchange, they donate blood so you don’t  _ have _ to cause such a scene.” Suddenly, and before Vance can reply, a thought strikes me. “Better yet, rather than just leaving them be, why don’t you do something useful and offer them protection?” When the only thing guarding the town is an old man with a rifle, it’s clear they could use a little help. 

He ponders on this for a long minute. I can practically feel Jack’s anxiety buzzing around me. Some of it is mine, too, to be fair. Finally, Vance says, “Am  _ I _ wrong to assume you have yet to discuss this with the people of Arefu?”

“No, you’re not.” 

He nods, then rub his chin as he looks around. “If they accept, so do I.” 

Apparently I’d been a lot more anxious than I thought, as my whole body relaxes with relief. “Fantastic. Thank you, Vance. It’s moments like this that set you apart from monsters and beasts.” 

I’m not entirely certain that was the right thing to say. He simply says “Indeed,” in reply, but it’s a bit sharp. 

“Evan King will be in contact with you shortly. If there’s nothing else,” I wait, and Vance says nothing, so I continue. “I’m waiting for a reply letter from Ian, and then we’ll see ourselves out.” He nods, and as I turn to find a seat, I spot Ian coming across the hall.

He gives me his letter, which is a page longer than Lucy’s had been, and thanks me one more time before going to speak to Vance. With that done, we walk back across the massive hall, stares and mutterings following us out as we go. 

 

The entire walk back through the metro, Jack is silent. Just as before, we follow the trail of trash can fires, back through derailed train cars and around rubble and collapsed tunnels. The longer he goes without speaking, the more irritated I get. I had expected him to say... _ anything _ ! Tell me I made a mistake, or that I did a good job, or that the whole thing was just some massive joke and they got me good. Anything to help me figure out how I even feel about the whole thing. Because right now, I have no idea. 

Did I do the right thing? Even if his people were innocent, was he? Did I just fall for a complete act? Is he going to pretend to go along with Arefu, just to get their guard down for an attack? What’s Evan going to have to say about all this? What if he doesn’t agree? Is peace even possible? 

And Ian...is he truly safe there? Should I have tried to get him to go back to Arefu, or maybe Megaton to be with Lucy? What’s she going to say when I tell all this to her? Is she even going to believe me? Nervously, I pat the letter that’s sitting in my pocket. I almost want to read it, falsely hoping it says something about ‘this amazing woman who totally did the right thing and saved us all!’

I hope I didn’t just do something really stupid.

The sun’s almost completely set by the time we get back outside. Glad I asked for that room for the night at least. 

“You should let me talk to Evan.” Jack says, giving me a little of a start. I didn’t expect to hear from him at all the rest of the night. 

“Why?”

“I got this crazy notion that you’re gonna try’n be honest and tell him the whole thing. That’d be a mistake. Just the important details is all he needs. You did your thing, I’ll take it from here.”

I can’t bother to argue. It might even be helpful to hear Jack’s spin on the whole thing, so I’ll know how badly I might have fucked up just now. “Alright.” A few more moments pass, and I can’t help it, I’m driving myself mad over this shit, so I finally ask, “Did I do the right thing?”

“What?”

“What...happened down there. What I did. Was it a mistake? Was it just, completely fucking stupid?”

He lights a cigarette while he contemplates his answer. “What you did down there, I don’t think anyone else would have done.” My heart drops. Damn. Am I really that naive? “But, considering exactly what it is that anyone else would have done,” he shrugs, “Maybe it was the right thing, just on principal.” 

I stare at him for a few seconds. He keeps looking ahead. That...was utterly unhelpful. He could have just gone with a shrug for all the good it did me. Although, my heart does lighten up a bit. A few paces higher than where it’d been before, even. 

“About damn time!” Evan shouts down the ramp as we approach. 

“Sorry! This one wanted to stop for ice cream.” I jab a thumb at Jack. 

From the movement in his head and brow, and from what little I can see through his sunglasses in the sunlight, I can tell Jack just rolled his eyes. 

“Did you find ‘em? Where’s Ian? What happened? Are they dead?” He sounds way too eager. Maybe Jack’s right - only the important details. He fills Evan in, saying we found them, Ian wanted to stay. Said he’s got a condition that he shares with the rest of them, and he feels safer and more secure being with them than on his own. Explains that they killed the brahmin for their medicine, and lays out the proposition I made to Vance. 

Evan asks a lot of questions. What kind of condition, why they’re all hiding out instead of in a city, why they need brahmin blood. Jack waits for him to finish, then says plainly, “That ain’t what we went down there for. You gonna accept the offer or start a fucking turf war?” 

Evan frowns, and I’m afraid for a second that he’s gonna say no, he wants to fight. But after a few minutes, “Well...I suppose you’re right. We don’t got the manpower for that fight. I can’t say I trust ‘em right away, but as long as they do their part, we’ll do ours, I guess.” 

He gives both of us a small satchel of caps, then tells me I’m going to be staying at ‘Karen’s place’ that night. She works a night shift, so the house will be empty and the bed free. There’s one shop in town that’s been told to give me whatever food I ask for. “And if you need anythin’ else,” he says as I head towards the shop, “Tough. This ain’t Megaton.” 

Jack looks like he’s about to speak, but settles for patting me on the shoulder before heading in the direction of his own house. I, meanwhile, focus determinedly on what to get for dinner, rather than acknowledge the sinking feeling when he walks away.  

As I get my food, get to Karen’s (who leaves for her shift immediately after I arrive), and settle in, I’m still going over the day. ‘Did I do the right thing’ plays on a continuous loop in my brain. ‘If it works out’, Evan had said. ‘If’. What if it doesn’t? ‘Maybe it was the right thing, just on principal’ Jack had said. Maybe it was. 

But maybe it wasn’t. Maybe, inadvertently, weeks from now, I just got this whole settlement sacked. What am I doing, wasting time like this?! Every night I lay awake with the same agonizing, horrible feeling that  _ this  _ was the day I took too long. That something terrible has happened that I  _ might  _ have been around to stop, but I wasn’t, because I’m dicking around with the fucking rabble. 

...But what if it was? What if this is the start of an allegiance that keeps both groups safe and taken care of? Would it be worth it? Sorry I let you die, Dad, but at least the fucking cannibals are happy. 

Fuck. I flip the pillow and press it over my face, hoping the pressure and the dark will help me sleep. It only sort of works. Whenever I do actually hit REM sleep, it’s filled with nonsense dreams, mixtures of ghouls and raiders and blood, and other images and situations I can’t put together but terrify me nonetheless.

 

I snap awake at the sound of the door creaking open.

“Sorry!” Karen whispers, sneaking in like a delinquent teenager. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you. Go back to sleep, you won’t bother me none.” 

“What time is it?” I slur into the pillow. 

“Almost 7.” 

I groan. I gotta get up. Gotta get back to Megaton.

Around 7:45, I’m finally out the door, awake as I can hope to be under the circumstances, and trying desperately not to think about the five hour walk ahead of me. Looks like Evan is already at his post, talking to someone else. Jack, of all people. 

“We’ve  _ got _ to stop meeting like this!” I say playfully when Jack sees me coming, and instead of rolling his eyes like I expect him to, he smirks. My heart skips a little - probably just the coffee kicking in. “I’m heading out, Evan. Thanks for hookin’ me up with a place to stay last night. Let me know if the Family gives you any more trouble.”

“I will if they don’t kill me.” He says sourly. My face drops in horror, but before I can say anything else, he waves a dismissive hand and says “Ahh, don’t worry, girlie. I’ll see ‘em comin’ before they’ll even know what to do.” He pats his rifle again, and I feel slightly better. Slightly. “You headin’ back to Megaton?”

“Yeah. Got some -”

Jack makes a noise between a scoff and a laugh.

“Well, good.” Evan says. “I wrote to Vance, we’ll figure things out fine, but I also got a letter here for Lucy. I assume you’ll be seein’ her again, I’d like you to give this to her, too. I was gonna have Jack do it since he’s headin’ that way, too, but probably better comin’ from you, seein’ as she likes you better. Which is to say, at all.” 

Jack smiles sarcastically at Evan. “Thanks. I promise to pretend to be sad when you die.” 

“You’re going to Megaton?” I blurt out at Jack.

“Yeah, I am.” 

“What for?” Wow, Blake, rude. That’s none of your fucking business. 

“Supply run.” He says anyway. “Caravans don’t come through a lot, and sometimes we run out’ve stuff before their next visit.” 

“Oh. Alright, well, hope you don’t mind a little company on the way.” He just shrugs and starts walking down the ramp. I’m left in a momentary stupor of wonderment as to whether he genuinely doesn’t mind my company, or if it’s all he can do not to just kill me outright.

 

Most of the trip goes by in relative silence. At one point a couple hours in, my stomach gurgles and he shares some brahmin jerky with me; followed by a short lecture about how I should always have some kind of food with me, just in case. But nothing too fragrant so it doesn’t attract anything. Followed by another lecture about water. An hour after that, the silence is broken once more as we come upon a couple of molerats. 

“ _ I’ll _ handle this.” I chide arrogantly, reaching for the repellant stick on my backpack.

“Actually, this is a good opportunity for some target practice.” 

I’m surprised a little. “But Jack! Bullets are a precious commodity!” 

“Yeah, if you can actually hit what you’re aiming at. No need to bother savin’ ‘em if you’re just gonna shoot the dirt.”

Damn. I know he’s right, but it still hurts my pride to hear it. Using my 10mil, I take aim at the first of three, and graze it before shooting in the chest. The second one, I miss twice before actually getting it in the head, and the third is close enough by then that putting one more bullet in its forehead isn’t all that impressive. Still, it’s my best work so far. Even though there’s no smoke, I playfully blow over the end of my barrel in faux cockyness. 

Jack, who had been intently focused on my targets, turns to speak to me. Before he can open his mouth, I see his face fall as he reaches for his revolver. “Blake, run!” 

But like an idiot, I don’t run. I turn around, barely getting a flash of what hits me. I see something large and black and toothy. I hear a roar, something collides with my head so hard I’m knocked down, and my face erupts in a burst of agonizing pain and blood. 

It’s hard to tell, but I think I black out for a second. When I come to, I can only open one of my eyes, and barely. I hear gunshots, something roaring, and Jack yelling. I put my hand over my left eye, and when I pull it away, it’s completely covered in blood. It takes a few seconds for my brain to register what that means. 

I try to push myself up, and the moment I start to move the world spins horribly around me. Just as suddenly, my head starts pounding like I’ve been hit with a bag of cinderblocks. I hear something that sounds like ripping flesh, and a roar that fades to a whine.

“J-Jack?” I can barely talk. The world around me refuses to come into focus and there’s no air in my lungs. I turn my head side to side before I finally spot him. He walks towards me, a big furry mass on the ground behind him. He tucks away something long, metal and bloody. A knife? 

He appears in front of me, kneeling down with his hands on my shoulders. “Blake? Can you understand me?” 

“I...y-yes.” 

I feel his hand touch my cheek, the one that’s covered in blood. “Hold still.” He says. It’s not the pain or the blood or the tightness in my chest that terrify me, but the softness in his voice and touch. It’s all I can do not to cry. I focus on trying to keep myself from hyperventilating instead, but it’s not working. He pulls back and lifts off his shirt, which gets stuck for a second on the undershirt beneath it. My vision is still pretty fucked up, but, was that...a scar? Across his whole chest? 

The thought is purged from my mind when he presses against my eye, making me shout at the pain. 

“Sorry. You gotta keep that pressed against your eye, okay?” I nod and put my hand on the wad of cloth. “Can you stand?”  

“I..I think so...” My free hand can barely wrap around his forearm. He puts his other hand under my elbow holding the shirt, and he heaves me up like I’m nothing. The ground beneath my feet jerks to the side, like someone tearing a rug from beneath me, but he keeps me steady. I feel dizzy...I think I’m gonna...

“Blake!” 

My head jerks up and throbs. “Uh?”

“Blake, stay with me. Hold this here.” Oh. Apparently I’d dropped the shirt. Weakly, I try to hold it in place again. It smells nice. Somewhere in my brain, I register another sensation in the crook of my other arm. When I look down, there’s a needle sticking out of it. At the other end of the needle is Jack. “I’m giving you a stimpak, okay?”

“Okay.” 

As the medicine pours through my system, the pain in my head rescinds slightly, and my thoughts become a little clearer. As soon as they do, I start piecing together what happened like a computer running diagnostics. 

Impact to head, blacking out, dizziness and imbalance: concussion. Excessive blood loss, torn flesh, unable to open eye: lacerations, likely multiple, swelling, possible loss of eye. Immediate treatment: stimpak, stifle blood flow; disinfect area against infection; stitches. Lots of them. Cold compress for concussion. Rest. I groan. 

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I can. How far is -” But he answers my question before I finish it.

“Megaton is too far. There’s a tiny settlement just a few minutes north of here. Think you can make it?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got more stimpaks in my bag, too.” 

“Alright. C’mon, let’s get moving.” 

 

Apparently ‘a few minutes’ means more like twenty. About half way there I almost pass out again and need another stimpak. I’m losing too much blood, and my head is pounding more than the stimpaks can subdue. I can barely stand at all when we get to the settlement. 

He wasn’t kidding, it is small. Small, but fortified. It’s got a wall of cars and tires and whatever else surrounding it, the only way in being a little bridge crossing over a pool of water. Jack’s got to keep an arm around my waist to keep me from falling forward. His torso on the other side of me feels like a wall. He’s strong...

“Hey!” He yells, his voice sounding almost like the thing that attacked me. “We need some help out here!” A few people poke their heads out of their houses. “Where’s the doc?”

They trickle out into the square and glance at each other. I’m so tired. I try so hard to stay awake, but now I’m fading in and out. I feel my body slump, and Jack’s muscles strain to keep me up until I find my footing again. In between, I hear the words ‘gone’, ‘kidnapped’, and ‘doctor’. Jack’s voice rises over them all in my ear. “Stay with me, Blake, hang on.” 

“C-clinic.” I croak. Jesus, I sound like I’m dying. Fuck. Am I?

The people who had been talking, stop. “Need the clinic...Supplies. Rest...” 

Two seconds pass before Jack speaks up. “Clinic! Move!” 

And we’re moving again. Every step feels like another brick smashing against my temple. Each breath gets shorter as I try not to shout, or cry, or just pass out. There’s another person beside me, helping escort me into the clinic. 

They set me down on the bed, and just when I thought my head couldn’t hurt any more, I’m proven wrong.

“What do you need?” A woman’s voice asks. 

“A...adren...adrena-” Breathing is hard. 

“Got it.” 

 

Suddenly, the eye that can open, opens wide. When I look around, I see my surroundings much clearer than I had before. Small room, hospital, unfamiliar. Everything that happened catches up to me. 

Jack is there and, next to him, a black woman with buzzed hair and a leather coat. “Are you a doctor?” I breathe, straining to enunciate. 

“Err, k-kind of. I’m more like an assistant, when she needs it, sometimes, but I’m not really a  _ doctor, _ I -”

“ _ Can you stitch me up _ ?” I snap impatiently. 

“Y- uh, yes.” 

I sit on the side of the bed, eyes closed, trying to focus on my breathing and not hyperventilate. Try to focus on the feeling of the bed and ignore the sensation of spinning. Try to ignore the bongo drum band practicing inside my skull. Try to remember instructions instead of passing out...again. I listen to the sound of her moving around the room, opening and closing cupboards and doors, gathering the necessary supplies. 

“Lay down.” She says, more authority in her voice than there had been before. 

I slowly shift, wincing at all the pain rushing through my head and over my face. She sticks a needle in my arm, but I can’t bother checking what it is.

“Med-x.” She tells me anyway. “Hopefully it might help. At least a little.” She gives it a chance to work through my body, but it’s not worth much. A second later I’m biting back screams at a new, fresh agony as she holds an alcohol-soaked rag to the open wounds. She doesn’t apologize or say anything, just keeps working. Good. Get this over with. 

 

I don’t know exactly how long it takes. I fade in and out of consciousness from pain and exhaustion. Occasionally I wonder if the med-x did anything at all. I’m so tired. Then I feel the almost cool, soft relief of gauze cover my swollen eye as she dresses the wound. Once she stops messing with it, there’s another great gust of relief. It still hurts like a bitch, but at least it’s no longer being seared, poked, pulled, stitched and pressed on. I slowly try to open my other eye, rolling my head just a little. Pressure rushes into the left side of my face like it’s filled with sand, but the woman catches my gaze. 

“How bad is it?” I sound like I haven’t spoken in days. 

She makes a sympathetic face. “It’s no papercut. From what I could see, they weren’t exceptionally deep, just long.” 

“Am I gonna lose my eye?”

She sighs. “I don’t know, kid. I’m only an assistant. It was too swollen for me to really get a good look anyway.” My heart skips a beat or two. How long have I been out of the vault, and I’m already half blind? Fuck. This just keeps getting better and better. I try not to let them, try to avoid blinking them out, but a few tears trickle out of the corner of my open eye. 

“You need to rest. In...in a few days, we can take the stitches out and reassess from there.” There’s something off about her tone, but I can’t place it. I don’t have a few days, anyway. I need to get to Megaton. I need to find my father. But something like this  _ always _ happens. Something always gets in the way. Why? Why do I keep fucking up this badly? 

On a deeper level, I’m grateful that the eye spilling out tears is facing the wall, and I tuck my head into the pillow to hide them more. 

 

* * *

 

She turns her head away and it seems like it only takes a few minutes for her to fall asleep. Good. She’s lucky t’still be alive at all. I dare say I’m a little impressed she managed to walk all the way here with an injury like that. Gotta admit; she’s got balls.

Kimba comes back inside from dumping the bloody water. “Here.” I hand over a satchel of caps. “For supplies. And the bed.” She doesn’t argue, just says thanks and pockets it. 

“She gonna be okay?” She’s worried, but there’s a stoicism to ‘er. This ain’t the worst she’s seen.

“Course.” 

“What happened?”

“Yao guai.” 

“Ouch. Got you, too, huh?” She jerks her chin at the bloodied chunks missin’ out’ve my left forearm. Stopped bleedin’ a while ago, I’d forgotten. I fold my arms over my chest t’cover the sight of ‘em.

“S’not bad.”

“Even so, you should let me wrap it. I know you’re a big tough guy or whatever, but infection doesn’t care about how many muscles you have.”

Heh. “Alright. Put it on my tab.” 

She grins and fetches some gauze. Can’t help it if my eyes wander a little. Got a good figure on ‘er. 

I hold out my arm for’r t’wrap and look over at Blake again. Fuckin’ balls, that one.

“Is she...?” Kimba asks, givin’ me a pointed look and raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Hah! God, no.” She smiles. I smile back. 

She clips the wrap to itself and pats my arm to let me know she’s done. “Thanks.” 

Another silence falls, when she says real quiet, “I’m glad to see you.” I look over at her, but she’s not lookin’ at me this time. “After the last attack, there’s so few of us left. It’s nice to have something good happen for a change.” 

“Sorry t’say it, but we’re just passin’ through. Wouldn’t’a come at all without the emergency.” I’ve never been the ‘hero’ type, anyway. 

She shrugs. “Hey, I’m not proposing here. Still, you’re here for tonight, aren’t you?” She says, steppin’ in a bit closer, and she’s got that look in them big, beautiful brown eyes’ve hers.

“Yeah, I’m here for tonight.” 

“And you’re gonna need somewhere to stay, aren’t you?” She slides her hands along my back, an’ I gotta restrain myself from returnin’ the gesture. Now I ain’t one t’turn down an invitation, but - she catches my cheek as I turn t’look at Blake. “She’s not goin’ anywhere, Sugar. She’ll be out all night long.” She gets on her toes and comes up so close I can almost taste her lips. “Promise.” She whispers.

There’s only so much a man can say ‘no’ to. “Vixen.” I tease. She winks, and leads me by the hand across the empty town square. 

 

* * *

 

For the most part, it’s a dreamless sleep. Nothing. Black. It’s a refreshing change, until I start to hear a rumbling noise. I keep turning in the darkness, reaching for my gun that’s not there, or it is and there’s no ammo, or it has ammo but it won’t fire. Finally I look to the side and see two glowing eyes and a set of shining teeth lunge for my throat at the same time I hear someone scream.

I bolt upright, lungs filled with breath ready to scream myself, but it comes out instead as a shout and groan as the pain in my head and face slams into me like a brick wall.

“Blake?”

“...Jack?” My one eye fights to focus without the other. “What...ugh, what time is it?”

“ ‘Bout ten.”

“PM?”

“AM. You’ve been out all night.” 

“Oh.” Well, that’s probably a good thing. With some effort, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. This is like, the worst hangover  _ ever _ . I’m able to stand, but the walk to the sink is a little unstable. I catch sight of Jack’s wrapped arm. He sees me staring and folds his arms to cover it up. “Jack, it -”

“Don’t worry about it. Looks worse’n it is.” I think of contradicting him, but I can practically smell his ‘macho’ from here, so I don’t bother pressing. 

“What  _ was _ that thing, anyway?” I ask, looking in the mirror. Yikes. Three bright red streaks spread over the entire patch, meaning it’ll need a change. Carefully, I start peeling away the tape.

“A bear. S’called a ‘yao guai’, don’t ask me why though.” 

I look at him in disbelief over my shoulder. “...A  _ bear _ ?” He nods. Maybe I don’t want to see what’s under here. When I finally do...it’s all I can do to not immediately start crying. I think it’s only Jack’s being here that keeps me from it. It’s  _ grotesque _ .

The gashes themselves are long and jagged. The first starts at the front of my brow, crossing over the bride of my nose, and streaking just beneath my eyelid. The middle and largest of the three starts barely an inch above my brow, crosses over my eye and stretches across my cheek to end at the edge of my maxilla. The one on the very end is one solid six-inch slash that almost gracefully outlines the outside of my eye and along my cheekbone. 

The skin around them looks just as bad. Swollen with three or four different colors, a gigantic bruise spreads over the entire half of my face. I look like a fucking zombie. I raise a shaking hand, covering it as much as I can. Pretend it’s not there, pretend I’m not going to be mangled for the rest of my life. 

“Congratulations!” I nearly leap out of my skin when Jack pipes up. “You’re an official wastelander now.” After a moment of hesitation, I drop my hand and force myself to take in my new face, but I can for only so long. I start washing my hands as a cover to drop my gaze. “Everyone gets mauled by somethin’ or another eventually. Happy Wasteland Cherry Breaking.” 

Is he...trying to cheer me up? Maybe make me laugh or goad me into a snarky exchange. The effort is  _ greatly  _ appreciated, but not quite enough. All I want to do right now is crawl into the mud behind a Megaton shack and never come out again. I can’t handle it. I can’t handle this fucking world. Every time I turn around, there’s some fucking thing trying to tear me apart. I can barely get up from the last smackdown before something fuckin else comes for me instead. And now look at me. For the rest of my life, I’m going to bear the mark of my own goddamn ineptitude. And I haven’t even gone near the city yet.

How am I going to manage this? Fear writhes in my chest like a dying snake. I nearly got my head torn off on a simple walk back and forth between settlements. How can I expect myself to get a foot into the city? How much longer am I going to keep waiting? What is Megaton going to do in the way of helping me prepare? It’s becoming more and more evident that there are some things you just can’t fucking learn from a book or observation. 

This world wants a fight? It’s gonna fucking get one, whatever scars come along with it.

The thought of scars sparks something in my mind. I look into the mirror again, but this time at Jack, who is picking his teeth with his pinky finger. He’s got a different shirt on, but - the image of the jagged tear across his chest flashes in my mind. I was pretty fucked up at the time, did I see that right?

“Jack?”

“Mm?”

Before I can ask, I’m interrupted by the door opening. The ‘assistant’ from last night enters, glances between the two of us, and walks towards me. “Beat me to it, huh? You’re rubbing off on her.” She says to Jack, some humor in her voice. I don’t notice much. I’m still staring down at the sink. “Let me see.” 

She raises my chin like a parent, turning it left and right the way my dad used to when taking stock of the damage after I had a fight with Butch. “Ohh, that’s a  _ pretty _ bruise! Very colorful. But the stitches are holding well. Swelling should go down after a while, probably a day or two and we can get those stitches out, then just keep it bandaged for a while longer to prev-”

“Prevent infection, yeah. I think I got it from here.” I snap dismissively, and she raises her eyebrows indignantly. “Shit, sorry. Sorry. Thank you, uh..?”

“Kimba.” She says flatly. 

“Kimba. Really. I’m grateful for your help. I couldn’t have done it on my own.” 

She presses her lips together and shifts her weight. “Mm, well, you got lucky that I’m here at all.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m not the doctor, remember? Well, you were pretty out of it. Our usual doc got snatched up just a few days ago. We're a regular target for super mutant raids.”

Super mutants? All the way out here? I have to turn my head farther than usual to make eye-contact with Jack. Even behind his sunglasses, I can see his eyes widen as comprehension dawns. He even starts shaking his head as he speaks. “Ohh no.  _ No _ . Blake, you are  _ not _ thinking of trying to save-”

“Yeah, I am.” 

“Blake, you can’t -”

“If I wanna get to DC, I’m gonna have to learn to deal with them sooner or later anyway.”

“You cannot be fucking serious.” 

“Why not?” I drop my gaze, looking around for the gauze for a new bandage. Kimba looks between us with some bewilderment, but picks up on what I’m doing and fetches some for me, taking over and reapplying the bandage. 

“Why not?! Blake, yesterday you didn’t even know what a  _ feral ghoul  _ was, nearly got your head torn off by a goddamn bear, and now you wanna try taking on a  _ whole pack _ of super mutants? That yao guai knocked the sense right out of you, you’re  _ fucking insane _ .” 

“Yeah, well, look at me! What else can they fucking do.” 

“What-?! Uh, they could fucking  _ kill you _ .” I don’t reply. I know they could. But for the first time, I’m not afraid of it. Thing is, it’s not because I’m feeling brave. I just...don’t care anymore. He steps forward “Just, forget it, okay? I know you’ve got this like, hero complex or whatever, but I’m telling you as someone who has seen the shit the Wasteland has to offer, just let it  _ fucking lie _ .” 

“No!” I shout, surprised at my own outburst as I tear away from Kimba to face him. “I won’t just ‘let it fucking lie’. Since I stepped out of that vault, nearly every fucking thing has tried to kill me in some way or another, and I’m not going to just hole up in Megaton like a radroach. I  _ have  _ to get into the city. I have to, and I’m not going to be prepared for that by turning tail at everything. I need to do this.” More silence. Kimba, acknowledging her queue, leaves. “I don’t expect you to understand.” My voice wavers, and I can’t look him in the eyes. I pick up the tape Kimba left behind to seal the last few bits of the gauze. “Just don’t get in my way.” 

Once I’m done, I push past him through the door, and he follows me out. “Blake-”

“Jack,  _ don’t _ .”

“ You’ve only got one eye and you’re a shit shot. How  _ exactly _ do you plan on going about this?”

“...I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. I have to. I’ve gotten this far on my own.” 

Once again, he says nothing. Figures. I’ll just - 

“Would you at least-” He sighs, and I pause to hear him out. He presses the heel of his palm to the bridge of his nose, cringing. “Just, give it a day. Just ONE day. You nearly lost your head, and it’ll be a goddamn miracle if you don’t lose that eye. Take a minute to heal, to adjust, let your body recover. IF anyone is still alive, which is  _ extremely  _ unlikely, you’re no good to them the way you are now.”

I’m quiet while I think it over. 

“If you’re going to be a fuckin idiot, you might as well be smart about it.” 

I fight back a smirk. “Alright. Fine. One day.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know this might be a bit fast paced, but I'm trying to balance staying true to the game with also keeping it an engaging story. Critiques are welcome and encouraged!


	5. Chapter 5

Not for the first time today, I find myself wondering just what the fuck I’m doin’ here. This chick gets her face ripped open by a goddamn bear, gets stitched up, and the minute she’s conscious again starts makin’ plans to march on a goddamn super mutie camp. Somewhere along the way I end up in tow behind her, carryin’ half my weight in fuckin’ explosives and ammo. 

Now I’m starin’ down at a pair, a goddamn  _ pair  _ of dead muties while she’s reloadin’ her fuckin’ 10 mil. “Okay,” she says, readyin’ to let me in on the next genius part of this intricate and well thought out plan of attack. “That went well. That went well, right? I thought it went well.” And that’s when I realize that today’s the day I die. What a shame. 

“Let’s just get this over with.” I rifle around for my mint tin. S’a few left. I’ll have t’get more once I get t’Megaton. If I don’t fuckin’ die first, via super mutant or aneurism. 

“We haven’t used any explosives yet, so maybe we still got the jump on ‘em.” I wouldn’t be worried if she was sayin’ that out’ve knowin’ how fuckin’ stupid super mutants are, and not just relyin’ on dumb luck. 

“Lead the way.” 

She checks the pip-thing on her wrist at every hallway, havin’ to turn her head to even see the fuckin’ thing through the one eye not covered in gauze. Keeps sayin ‘this way, this way, this way’ until we get to a door. That door then leads us down a staircase, which then leads us to, in a refreshing change of pace, more hallways.

We don’t hear any kind’ve chatter, so we move through slow and quiet. Couple’ve radroaches pop up, but they got soft heads and I got a sharp knife. No problem. We’re comin’ up on a T-intersection and she actually fuckin’ collides with the super mutant comin’ around the other corner. Depth perception is a bitch, in’ it? She screams, we open fire, and the things small head takes three of my .44 slugs before it goes down. 

“Who there?!” Another one of ‘em shouts from a few rooms away. Shit.

“Grenades!” She hisses, even though I’m already pullin’ the bag to my front. 

“Here.” I hand her one and we each loop a finger through the pin, waiting for - yup, there ‘e is, the second mutant bursts into the hall from two doors down.

“HuMANS!!” It yells, we pull the pins and roll the grenades forward, then dive behind the previous corner as it opens fire with its pump-action rifle. At least it ain’t got a fuckin AK. A few seconds later, and the place nearly comes down on top of us with the blast of the two grenades at once. The mutant screams and start’s howlin’ about its leg and stupid humans. When we go back around the corner, it ain’t a pretty sight. Big bursts’ve red across the floor and even on the walls, and the thing is lyin’ on the floor with most of its leg just...gone. 

Blake makes a gaggin’ noise and covers her mouth. “Keep it together. Not done yet.” She nods. Can’t say I blame her. Even I ain’t seen a lot’ve shit that compares to this. The thing howls and screams and tries to go for its weapon, but two point-blank shots to the skull does the trick. 

Before we move on, we wait and listen. While I got the chance, I reload the empty chambers. If any of ‘em were still here, we’d hear ‘em comin’ by now, so we keep movin’ forward.

“Hello?!” Someone else, a woman, calls out. “Is someone there?!”

“Yes!” Blake replies and starts joggin’ down the hall, glancing into doorways, despite me havin’ told her more than once it’s fuckin’ reckless. If runnin’ head first into a super mutant ain’t gonna teach y’that, nothin’ will. 

“Oh God, get me out of here!”

“We’re coming! Hang on- here, Jack!” She runs into another room, and by the time I get in there, she’s already tappin’ away on a computer. 

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you!” The girl in the cell, wearin’ a red jumpsuit and bandana, crawls up from her spot in the corner.

“Hang on, you’ll be out in just a sec.” Sure enough, a breath later, there’s a loud ‘click’ as the lock disengages. I pull the bars aside, and she and Blake are drawn into a hug like they’re lifelong friends. Blake’s strokin’ the girl’s hair, sayin’ she’ll be alright and we’ll get her back home. It’s kinda...well, I dunno. Never really saw anythin’ like it before so I don’ really got a word for it. Nice, I guess.

The girl says t’call her Red, and that everyone else “got killed, or worse”. Except for one of ‘em, who just got dragged down to the kitchen a little while ago. Says they don’t come back from the kitchen, and like I expect her to, Blake glances at me with that fuckin’ look in her eye. 

Not done yet. 

* * *

“We’ll go see if we can find him, okay?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s seen. Since we got here, we’ve been stepping over skeletons and bags full of--it churns my stomach to even think. “Wait here for us. If we’re not back in twenty minutes, run back to Big Town. We’ll try to escort you if we can, but-” She doesn’t need me to finish the thought.

“Hey. You’re bleedin’.” Jack says. Instinctively, I look down around my arms and torso, but he clears his throat and taps his eye. 

“Oh.” I gingerly dab the gauze over my eye and feel a slight dampness. “Well, let’s be quick about it then.” Not like I expected it to heal up overnight. Except for the wonky depth perception and the immense amounts of constant pain, it actually hasn’t been as tedious as I was expecting. 

Following the blueprints on my pip-boy, I lead us to the door that takes us into the basement. No sooner do we pass through the door than do we hear another super mutant voice utter in choppy English; “Gonna eat your arms first, human! Arms - then legs. Then I’ll eat the rest - and put your head - on my wall!” It takes great self control not to go tearing down the hall into the only open door. It doesn’t sound like there’s any more of them, but what if there are? 

We nearly crawl down the hallway, the super mutants odd broken laughter makes my blood go cold. Jack holds out a hand, and when I focus a little, I see it too. The mutant’s standing with its back to the open doorway, and Jack gestures for me to stay put. I don’t like it, but I nod anyway and raise my gun slightly, showing I’ll be ready to jump in if needed.

He inches forward, step by step, moving silently but swiftly so as not to miss the opportunity. Every second makes my heart do another backflip; all it takes one wrong move, one slip up...When he’s barely an arm's reach away from the mutant, he finally pulls the trigger and shoots it through the back of the knee. As it falls to the ground screaming, Jack straightens to his full height, closing the distance and pressing the barrel of his gun to the base of the things skull. He only has to fire once and it slumps to the ground, head still barely attached, and Jack gives me the all-clear.

Damn. I can’t pretend I’m not impressed. He doesn’t strike me as the most tactical of fellows, but he pulled that off rather nicely. 

“Wh-who’s there? Red?” The poor guy is hog-tied on the floor, back to the doorway.

“Red’s fine.” I say while Jack cuts him loose. “She’s upstairs waiting for us, we’re gonna take you guys back to Big Town. C’mon, up you get.” Jack helps me lift him to his feet, and I can’t help but stare at the mutant’s body as we walk out of the room. 

The lower half of its face has been blown clean off, but the rest of it...’mutant’ barely does it justice. Its skin is stretched so tightly, veins and arteries practically pop out. It’s a horrible, sickly green, and its arm alone is thicker than my head. How does something like that even happen? Stepping over the body, we go to collect Red and get the hell out of here.

The half hour walk back to Big Town is quiet. I’m taking the lead, Red and her friend are behind me, and Jack guards the flank. It’s efficient, I guess. Even with one eye out of commission, Jack insists I’ll spot trouble before he does. And vice-versa, he can better handle and respond to a surprise attack if we get flanked. It makes sense, but I would have liked to pick his brain a little about super mutants. What they are, where they came from. Maybe I’ll have a chance on the way back to Megaton. 

When we finally get back, everyone who's left comes out to greet Red her friend, Shorty. They all ask the same thing: “Where are the others?” Which gets the same response: mournful silence. Eventually they all gather around one another, a community mourning their lost. As an outsider, I try to make myself scarce. I see Jack lounging against a porch beam and smoking a cigarette, and join him there. “Thank you. For, y’know, co-”

“Don’ mention it.”

I follow his gaze back to the crowd of people, hugging and talking with one another. “We did alright, huh?” At first, he doesn’t say anything.

“We got lucky.”

“Oh, come on!” 

He rolls his eyes. “Blake, you have  _ no idea _ what -” He pushes up from the post and extends an arm in a vague direction. “Those mutants in there? Those were  _ runts _ , Blake. Those were rejects, cast out from the bigger packs, probably because they were too weak. And it was a small pack, too. Usually there’s upwards of seven at once. We got.  _ Lucky _ .”

Runts?  _ Those  _ were  _ runts _ ? My stomach drops at the thought. For one fleeting moment, I’d actually believed I was starting to get the hang of things, that I might have a chance, I might just make it. Is what we just did really so easy to dismiss? We’re alive, aren’t we? We made it out with barely a scratch on us. Well, maybe a few, but still. This is a victory, even if a small one. “Okay, fine, so they were baby mutants. But still! Jack, you took one out in a single handed sneak attack! That’s got to be worth some bragging rights at least!” 

He stays quiet for a minute, and my stomach knot tightens. Am I really so naive? But then he rolls his lips, fighting back a smirk and offers a casual shrug. “Super mutant’s still a super mutant.” Before I can tease him about being smug, Red taps me on the shoulder. 

“I just wanted to thank you again. So much. There’s no way I could ever repay you. I heard that you had to use my clinic while we were out? For that?” She points at the increasingly-red bandage over my eye.

“Uh, yeah. Was a bit of an emergency, I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course! I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you, but I am now. Come on over and we’ll get you some fresh dressings.” 

I turn back to Jack. “Ready to head out afterwards?” He nods, pops a few mints, and nothing more.

 

Thankfully, the rest of the way to Megaton is significantly less eventful than the first half. A few more bloatflies and molerats, but smooth sailing otherwise. A welcome relief. 

The closer we get to the gates, the more my stomach churns. It’s a simple question, why is it making me feel sick? I can feel the words forming in my lungs, bubbling in my throat, and reaching my tongue before falling back into my stomach. As we walk through the cities threshold, I get a ‘now or never’ jolt of bravery. “So as thanks for savin’ my ass left, right and center, can I buy you a drink?” See, that wasn’t so hard. So why is my heart doing an irish jig? 

He grins. “Rain check. I got a couple things I need t’do before the shops close.” 

And just like that, the jig comes to a screeching halt and falls flat on its face. He  _ had _ said he was going to Megaton for specific supplies. And I’m aware that I threw off his schedule completely by almost dying, and then launching a rescue mission where we almost died  _ again _ . It’s totally reasonable that he’d need to get those things done when he’s already behind schedule. Somehow that doesn’t lift the weight in my chest. 

“Oh, right. I did kinda throw off your schedule there, heh. Well, uh, see y’around then...?”

“Yeah. See ya’round.” He goes right, and for a moment I completely forget that I have anything of importance outside of watching him walk away. Where am I? Why am I here? I needed to...ah, right. My mind reels through images that lead me back to Arefu, Ian, The Family, and Lucy which means - Ugh. Moriarty’s. 

 

It’s not an awful conversation. She frets over my eye, I give her the letters from Ian and Evan, and drink some whiskey while she reads them. Even after she stops reading, there’s a long silence. Then she thanks me profusely, pays me more than I expected, and says she’s gotta go make plans to get to Arefu immediately. So it could’ve gone worse. 

It’s too late to bother with the showers. The line is probably a mile long and I don’t think I could stand the cold water just now, so I head straight for the common house while there’s still a chance of getting a bed. It proves fruitful, as the third floor is entirely empty when I get there. No lumpy, broken couch for me tonight. No, tonight I get a lumpy, stained mattress on the floor. What luxury. 

As it fills with people, I lie awake for a few hours, trying to think of a plan for the next day. I’d like to make plan for the next week, or even month, but there’s no kind of regularity out here. I can’t even hold my breath for a meal in the morning. Shit, a simple walk back to Megaton resulted in a setback of two whole days.

And they were just runts, too. Terror broils in my chest like a tar pit. Runts. They were  _ runts _ , and DC is crawling with fully grown packs. How the hell am I...? God, I’m gonna fuckin’ die before I ever get anywhere. I don’t even know if my dad is still alive or not. Moriarty’s words keep ringing in my head - “Better hurry, or all you’ll find is a corpse”. I’m taking too long, wasting valuable time. But what choice do I have? How can I expect to get into the heart of the city if I could barely handle a pack of baby super mutants? 

Despite being surrounded by strangers, I feel completely alone; hidden and secluded. I never liked crying in front of people before, even my dad. But now, here, in a room full of people who don’t care any more about me than the mud on their feet, I feel more alone than ever. There’s no one here to care, to ask what’s wrong or try to comfort me. No one to judge me for being weak or strong. I’m just a vague shape to them, background noise. So when tears start pouring out of my one good eye, it doesn’t bother me. Even when I sniff loudly, or wipe my face, I’m not embarrassed. I don’t feel the need to be. I barely even exist. The tears redouble in effort, a steady stream trickling down the side of my face. What am I going to do...?

I don’t remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t last long. I wake up every couple of hours or so from pain or another nightmare of erupting limbs, screaming and death. When I wake to see light creeping in through the cracks in the walls, I figure I might as well get started with my day.

There’s an interesting sort of ebb and flow to the shower rushes. There’s an early bird rush around 6 o’clock that doesn’t last too long, and another, much bigger rush that starts around 9, and begins to peter off around 11. Any time outside of those, there’s still going to be a little bit of a line, but you might get lucky and have a little bit of warm water, too. 

This is one such time. It’s about fifteen minutes to six and there’s only two people in line. On top of that, there’s just enough warm water left to get a quick rinse and wash. I feel mildly bad for the guy after me, but not much. If I know the routine by now, he ought to as well. I pause for just a moment to check my own reflection. The bandage is relatively clean, bruising is no longer visible around it. There’s probably more underneath, but I’ll take what I can get. From there, I head over to the embodiment of coffee herself.

“Good mor~ning!” Moira calls out cheerfully as I enter. “Early bird gets the-- oh my god, Blake!” 

Ugh, I was hoping she wouldn’t do that. She hurries over and reaches for my bandaged eye, but when I pull away she still hovers a little. “God, what...happened?!” 

“Y...uh. You guy? Ya...Bear. Thing.”

She claps her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

“Moira, can I just get--”

“How did it happen? Were you alone? How bad is the injury? Did you have medical supplies on hand? Were you near a town or city? What did you do to fix it?” She’s rifling around for something, and I clench my eyes shut - It will perpetually,  _ always  _ be too early for this shit. 

“Moira, what are you -”

“There’s supposed to be a chapter in my book about how to handle grievous injury. I’d hoped that if something like this happened, you’d come straight to me!” She finally produces a pen and paper.

“Oh, well, sorry, I was a little preoccupied bleeding out in the middle of the fucking-”

“Can I see it?” 

_ Sigh _ . Just get it over with, Blake. “Do you have any gauze?” 

While she fetches the supplies - from her bathroom, not behind her counter - I peel off the old gauze, which is easily done since it’s still damp from the shower water. Brownish red stains the interior with old and fresh trickles of blood in a mirror of the mark my face now bares. Her constant smile fades a little when she comes back. “Oh, Blake...” 

_ That’s _ what hurts the most. Not my eye, not the horrible pang of pity in her voice, not even the embarrassment of getting my ass handed to me so severely. What drops my stomach like an ingot of lead is imagining what I must look like now. I can feel the ache in my cheek stretch from my jaw to my forehead. I can feel the pull of the stitches from the bridge of my nose to the end of my eyebrow. The entire half of my face, shredded, mangled, distorted. Ugly. 

“What happened?” She asks, and it takes the next half hour to fill her in on the whole thing, not least of why because she keeps interrupting with gasps or questions. I opt to leave out the super mutant rescue mission entirely. 

“Once the doc...uh, got back from her trip, she helped me re-dress it. Can take out the stitches in the next day or so.”

“How are you going to manage until then?”

I shrug. “Figure I’ll just bum around the common house, maybe look for work. Not much I can do until I can open this eye again.” Assuming I can.  

“Hmm. Wait here a minute.” She disappears behind the first door, going up a flight of stairs. I can hear her footfalls as she moves around the second story, and follow her movement back down where she hands me a big thick book about the history and science of nuclear warfare. “Here. You can borrow this in the meantime, to give you something to do.” 

“Holy shit.” It’s in remarkable condition. For some reason, I’d just assumed books no longer existed out here. “Thanks, Moira.” 

“And let me know whenever you’re ready to get back to some research!” That didn’t take long. She’s back to her chipper old self in no time. 

“Will do.” 

 

By late afternoon the next day, I’m already going stir crazy. I’m halfway through the book Moira lent me, and while it has actually been really interesting, a person can only stare at a book for so long. Just as I’m thinking about talking to Walter for some work, I’m surprised with an unexpected visitor. The room’s nearly empty, and of the four people here, I’m the only one awake, so Susan’s eyes go straight to me. The red hair probably helped.

“Ah, Blake! I’ve been looking for you.” Oh boy. 

“What is it?”

“Simms wants a chat with you.”

“Simms?”

“The sheriff.” 

The sheriff wants to talk to me, so much so that he’s sent his deputy out to find me? This can’t be good.

“Don’t worry,” she says, reading the blatant ‘oh shit’ expression on my face. “You’re not in trouble or anything. He’s got an offer for you.” 

Well, it’s better than nothing. I slip the book in my bag and get up to join her. 

“What happened?” She asks, gesturing vaguely to her own face.

“Yao guai.” 

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Well, you’re one of us now. Congrats.” She smiles at me. I wonder if Jack already went back to Arefu? 

I follow her up to the highest ring in the city, on the same level as Moriarty’s and a couple above Craterside Supply. Towards the main gate, we turn left and walk along the inside of the wall. She stops at a relatively large building that’s got a painted star on the front door, and knocks.

“Lucas? I’ve got Blake here for you.” 

“Come in.” 

It’s not what I’d expected on the inside. It’s actually kind of...nice, almost. An attempt at class and eloquence, working with all that he could get in the wastes. The room is split between living room and office, with a couch and radio on one side side of a room divider and a desk with a lamp on the other. Lucas Simms, a black man wearing a large cowboy hat and actual honest-to-god sheriff’s badge, pauses from whatever he’s writing long enough to gesture for me to sit in the chair opposite him. 

“Thank you, Susan.” She nods and leaves. “Blake.” He says, putting down his pen to offer his hand in greeting. I give it a quick shake as I sit down. He looks at my eye, but doesn’t say anything. Thank God. He stares for a few seconds, then leans forward and laces his fingers together. “You’ve been making quite the name for yourself, haven’t you?” Uh oh. “Clearing the Super Duper Mart, helping Walter at the plant, callin Moriarty out in his own damn saloon, and makin’ peace over the squabbles in Arefu. Is all that true?”

“Yes. Uh, sir.” 

“Is it also true,” He glances down, checking his papers. “That you’ve been approached by a man wearing a tan suit and hat? That maybe presented some kind of offer in regards to Megaton?” I narrow my eyes with suspicion. How’d he know about that? 

“Yes, it is. How did you-?”

“I can’t be everywhere at once. I’ve got to have reliable sources to be my eyes and ears where I’m not. And what they saw and heard was that you told him to -” he glances down again, “‘Shove it up his ass’?”

I smile automatically, not bothering to pretend like I’m not pleased with myself. “I did say that, yes.”

He smiles, too. “Indeed. Well, Blake, your reputation precedes you. You see, we have an outstanding bounty that we’d like you to take care of. If you feel up to it, that is.”

A sheriff hiring me for a bounty? Did I somehow stumble out of the Capitol Wasteland and into the Old West? “Go on.” 

“There’s a group of raiders nearby who have been trying to move in on the Super Duper Mart, since you cleared it out. Now, these are just your usual hooligans and fuck ups that couldn’t get into the bigger raider packs, but they’ve been causin’ problems all the same. Not least of which is raidin’ caravans en route to our very own Megaton. Even managed once to get through the guards. Killed everyone, even the brahmin, and made off with all the goods they could carry. Given your, uh, history of philanthropy and experience with raiders, I was hopin’ you could take care of this for me, too. Of course, being a bounty, you  _ will _ be paid. But I’d like something done about it sooner than waiting around for some bored merc to take up the job instead, and then not even do the thing properly - try’n scare them off or some such, only for them to just pick a new target. You understand?”

“I...yes, sir. Start-up raiders. Take ‘em out before they become a real threat. Don’t give ‘em a chance to somewhere else.” 

“Excellent. That will be all. Susan can fill you in on the details, come see me when you’re done.” He offers his hand again. End of conversation. Got it. When I leave, Susan is waiting for me outside. 

“So, where’m I goin?” 

“As far as I can tell, they’re taking shelter in a sewer waystation, a bit south of the Super Duper Mart on the outskirts of the city.” She says, walking with me to the front gate.

“Do you know how many there are?”

“Just a small pack, about four or five.”

Four or five, huh. That’s about how many were in the Super Duper Mart. Only this time when I go in, it’s not for supplies, but specifically to kill. Can I even do that? These flashes and images, reminders of what I’ve done - they don’t bother me as much as they used to. What does that say about me as a person? I guess it doesn’t matter much, I already fuckin’ agreed to do the job.

“I’m gonna need another day or so for my eye to heal.”

“Of course. Try not to take too long beyond that, though, before they do some real damage.” She says it in a nice enough way, but it’s more what she said that really pisses me off. 

“Sure thing, I’ll just tell my skin to hurry it up and seal back together lickedy-split so I can run off and get myself shot at again.” I expect an apology, or at least some shred of remorse, but she’s completely casual when she replies.

“If you don’t want the job, we can find someone else.” Damn. That just seems cold. 

“Of course I want the job. I said I did, didn’t I? I was- ”

“I know you’ve been looking for someone. Asking around and trying to get a lead. I don’t know your story, kid, but I do know the Wasteland, and it’s not gonna slow down or wait until you’re prepared for it. I hope you realize that.” I gape at her for a second, completely floored by this sudden burst of imparted wisdom. 

“I know that...of course I know that, I just -” 

“Good. Then the job is yours, and we’ll catch up in a couple of days.” She stops walking at the gate, smiles at me like we just had some pleasant little chat, and waves goodbye as she leaves. It’s not until I’m halfway back to the common house I wonder where she might be going. 

It strikes me as a little odd. Why would she say something like that to me? What’s with her sudden interest in what, or how I’m doing? I feel a little...insulted, actually, that she’d lecture me about something like that without even knowing me. I know I’m still sort of ‘fresh’ out of the vault, but I’m not a fucking child.

Or maybe I am. Maybe that was her point. I don’t know. I know what I have to do, and as if I hadn’t felt a sense of impending urgency before, I sure as shit do now. I’ve got half a mind to head out now, like she just threw down a gauntlet and I’ve gotta go prove my worth or some shit. Now  _ that _ would be stupid. If there’s any chance my eye isn’t completely fucked, it’ll be all the better to have whatever vision it can give me, if any at all.

Someone bursts out of the common house, making me jump and realize I’ve been standing here for a few minutes now, staring like an idiot. I can’t go back in there. I can’t just sit around and wait. I have to do  _ something _ . Figure I’ll go see Walter like I intended to earlier. 

He’s the only one that reacts to my eye in a way I don’t actually mind. He makes the same variation of the ‘true wastelander’ comment everyone else has, but goes on to tell an elaborate story about rescuing children from a fire with a mole rat clamped around his knee. I’m sure that almost 90% of it is bullshit, but he definitely favors the leg, so there’s got to be some truth to it. If I had to guess, mole rat got the jump on him and tore a chunk out of his knee. But I don’t bother calling him out. He doesn’t seem to get a lot of visitors, and he just looked so proud of himself telling the story. Shit, maybe he’s telling the whole, God’s-honest truth. Wouldn’t be any more bizarre than anything else I’ve fuckin seen.

He sets me to work, this time inside the plant; keeping up the pipes, replacing worn parts, or jerry-rigging pieces of equipment. It’s kind of nice, actually. Reminds me of the vault in a way. Worse for wear, but there’s a sense of normalcy to it that feels comforting just now. 

I go back again the next day, but there’s not as much that needs done. Instead of making me leave, though, he lets me go through all his filing cabinets which hold all sorts of interesting things about Megaton and its history. There’s an older map from decades ago when it first started, just a string of buildings and a wall around the top of the crater. There’s blueprints for some of the buildings, lots of plans for new lines to be installed, even some schematics for the warhead resting in the city center. Written entirely in Chinese, but cool enough to look at. 

There’s also photographs of groups of people I don’t recognize. One I particularly enjoy is of a much younger Walter, arm in arm with a pretty asian woman in a lab-coat. He moves quick for someone with a bad knee - snatches it out of my hand and says he meant to throw it away, but sticks in his chest pocket. I poke around for a few more hours, quip a bit with Walter, then head out in the late afternoon. I want to get to the bathrooms, but not for a shower. Didn’t work hard enough to bother with all the fuss of one. Mostly I want to check up on my eye. 

The lighting is awful and there’s only a couple of people in the showers, but I still feel nervous. No stranger has yet to comment on it - but what if that’s just because they don’t know how bad it really is yet? Peeling away the gauze, I keep hoping it will never be as bad as I expect, and it always is. The stitches just make it look downright monstrous. I’d been carrying the high hope that they would work well enough and all I’d be left with is a few thin streaks across my eye. So much for that fantasy.

The cuts were so long and so wide the stitches could barely bring them together at all. Once it scars, it’s going to be anything but subtle. Big, long, scraggly tears from my forehead to my cheek, the skin distorted as it tried to stretch and seal back together. 

Hideous. 

I rinse the skin around my eye gingerly with warm water and, for the first time, attempt to ease it open. Like leaving the vault, it has to readjust to light all over again after having been closed for days straight. The result is not promising. 

With both eyes open, the center of my vision is slightly blurred, with my left peripheral completely distorted. With only my right eye open, things are fairly clear, albeit my depth perception is skewed. But with the left open, it’s like I need glasses. Thick ones. In this tiny bathroom I can still make out shapes and colors, and knowing what everything is already helps. Out in the wastes... 

I consider foregoing putting the bandage back on. I don’t really need it at this point, but I’m tempted to anyway, if only for the sake of others. Especially with the stitches in, I really don’t want the attention they’ll bring. At the same time, fuck it. If I’m gonna look like a monster for the rest of my life, the sooner I get used to it, the better. 

I think tomorrow morning, I’ll go to one of the actual clinics in town and have the sutures removed. Depending on how that goes, I guess I’ll take a shot at the raiders in the sewer. If that goes well, then...we’ll see what happens from there. Just gotta take it one day at a time.

 

“Who the hell did these stitches, anyway?”

Doc Church. Best doc in the whole city, according to everyone I talked to. Sure, there’s some fancier, cleaner places in the top ring, but they charge out the ass for half the work. Doc Church, they all said, right next to the core of the crater. Brilliant location, really. Client’s gotta buy some rad-away just to fuckin’ get to the guy. A bit older and lacking in bedside manner, he’s not exactly what I pictured. But he is making quick work of these stitches, and I’ll take the attitude if it comes with someone who actually knows what the fuck they’re doing. He plucks the last one out and immediately begins cleaning his supplies. “All done. That’ll be fifty caps.” 

Christ. If he’s got the best prices, I hate thinking about what they’d charge me up top. “How’s it look?” There’s not a mirror around for me to see if it looks at all better without the gnarled knots. 

“Like you got mauled by a bear. Fifty caps.” 

Tsk. Ass. Suppose it ain’t in his job description to make me feel better about myself. I count out the fifty, which doesn’t make as huge a dent in my purse as I thought it would. Funny how working every day keeps a person fed and together, isn’t it? Afterwards, I trek back towards the mid ring to buy some more mags and stimpaks from Moira. That’s where I start to see the dent, but it’s not too bad. Better to have it and not need it, as they say. 

Only takes me half an hour to get to the coordinates Susan gave me. The longer I walk, the more of an ache I feel in my face. The wind makes the now bare skin around my eye sting, flecks of dirt and dust feel like tiny shards of glass, and the skin aches as it tries to stretch and close. I go back and forth between thinking my vision is actually improving, and thinking it’s growing worse by the second. This is going to be interesting.

Spotting the building, I stop a little short, taking advantage of the ridges by the river to see if I can’t get the drop on them down below. But when I peek over the ridge, wincing as I close my left eye to bring the distance into focus, there’s not a spec of movement outside.

My heart starts to pound as I work my way down the hill. There’s  _ very  _ little cover around. If they jumped out from behind the rocks around the building and opened fire, I don’t know that I’d be able to get behind something soon enough. But I manage to make it to the door without any unpleasant surprises. This doesn’t settle my heart any, since the longer I go without encountering anyone, the closer I am to finding them. Vicious cycle. 

Up against the door, I can hear the soft rumble of voices inside, but it’s faint, difficult to hear anything distinct. At least they’re not immediately behind the door. Inside is dark and empty, and the voices now carry more clearly from deeper within. I crouch close to the ground, making sure my pistol is loaded and ready. 

All I can hear right now is laughter and jeering. A bottle breaks, and the laughter erupts in a second wave. I cross through the first room I’m in, which looks like it might’ve been some kind of front office in its prime. The door on the opposite side is open, and from here I can only see what looks like a railing leading somewhere below. 

Peeking around the open doorframe reveals a much larger room. Broken factory equipment litters the room in all directions, but what has my attention is the group of people sitting around a bonfire.

“Nah, I’m tellin ya! On ‘is hindlegs like ‘es in the circus or somethin’!” 

More laughter.

“You’re off ya goddamn rocker mate.” 

“Y’need t’lay off the jet. Pass it ova’.”

“Fuck off! You’ve had almost the whole fuckin’ thing.” 

“Yeah well, when you bring in the next load, you can have more.” 

Between where I’m crouching and their drum circle is a giant, thick support beam that gives me a little bit of cover. I can spot two of them clearly, both their attentions turned inward to the fire. If I play this  _ exactly  _ right, I can take out the first guy, and maybe even the second before they know what’s going on. Especially if they’re all high.

_ If _ I do it right. 

I take a deep, slow breath in an unsuccessful attempt to steady my nerves. At the very least, I can retreat into the front room and bottleneck them like at the Super Duper Mart. Hopefully. Leaning out of the doorframe, I hold my pistol the way Jack taught me to. One finger on the trigger. Line up my target with the sites, then adjust further up and slightly to the left - I need a new gun - Deep breath. Slow exhale. Brace for recoil. Squeeze the trigger.

Headshot. 

In the next breath I swing my aim over to the next guy in my line of sight, and in the time it takes for him to look at the fresh body, and up in my direction, I’ve got the shot lined up and send one straight into the center of his face. That was a bit gruesome. 

“Shit! Aw fuck! Jeremy!” The way he screams his name makes my heart freeze. Fuck. That was his friend. He just saw his friends face blow to bits right in front of his eyes  _ because of me _ . Chairs knock over and bottles crash, and the next two come barreling out from behind the support beam. Right. They’re still raiders. He won’t be alive much longer anyway. The first shot I miss by a narrow inch, the bullet whizzing by before his very eyes. In my favor though, it causes him to stop his charge and look my way. And just like his buddy Jeremy, his face goes boom. 

I’m not quick enough to get the last guy, who starts to blind fire my way. Ducking back behind the wall gives me sufficient cover. Luckily he’s only using a pistol, which means at this rate, he’s only got a handful of shots until he needs to reload. There’s a halt in the fire, so I lean out to try and take my shot, but he opens up again and I barely duck back in time. Guess he’s not completely stupid. He doesn’t keep firing when I’m not in view, and I don’t know how many more shots he has.

But of course, he doesn’t know how many I have. Or what else I have. 

In the pile of rubble next to me, I take a second to search for what I’m looking for. A chunk of rock or concrete, about the same size and shape as a grenade. Fits in my hand just right, too. I take the chance to lean out and pinpoint his position. A burst of fire comes out from behind that giant pillar. While I’ve got his attention, I mime pulling the pin with my teeth and throw the rock towards the pillar, just to the side so it doesn’t bounce off and betray my bluff. 

He glimpses it flying through the air, and scrambles away from its projected landing zone - and his spot of cover. Gotcha, motherfucker. In his mad dash away from the rock, I aim just a few feet ahead so he runs right into my line of fire, and down he goes. I do believe I’m getting  better at this. 

Leaving no job undone, I press further into the room, waiting for any sign or sound of attack. Nothing. Silence. I holster my gun and start going through the pockets, working backwards in the order they died, through the trail of bodies leading to the fire. 

Nice, the first guy has a box of 10mm ammo. Second guy’s only got a couple inhalers of jet. The third has nothing more than a baseball bat, and the last body, the first one to die, has some more 10mm ammo as well as a nice and heavy little sac of caps. 

“Why, thank you very much.” By the light of the fire I look around at my own work, the images of their corpses added to my growing mental collection. Where before they made me nauseous and shaky with a cold feeling down my spine, now it’s more neutral. There’s a weight in my stomach, and the way that guy called out for his friend actually made me feel  _ guilty _ for a moment. But these are raiders. How much suffering have they inflicted until now? 

Something else rises in my chest, counterbalancing the weight of guilt. Something lighter, more fulfilling. I think the word for it is  _ pride _ . I dare say, I did pretty well. Nothing left to do now except report back to Susan.

I’m barely across the building’s parking lot when, “Please!” And I instinctively go for my gun. Glad that’s starting to kick in. “Please, you have to help us!” 

“What’s wrong?” A woman with a tight black bun runs up, hands in the air. 

“Please, my husband, he’s badly hurt. We were trying to get to Megaton and we were attacked, there’s so much blood, please!” 

My body turns to follow her, but a feeling like cement weighs down my ankles. Jack’s words ring out in my mind: “assume everyone is out to kill you, cause they are”. So I hesitate, and take her in again. She’s wringing her hands and looking distressed, but in expression only. 

“You were attacked?”

“Yes! Please hurry!”

Her bun is perfectly groomed, not a hair out of place. Her clothes are dirty, but not torn or disheveled. Not a single bruise or speck of blood on her. Didn’t she say there was a lot of blood? 

“What attacked you?” 

She freezes for just a second, but it’s enough. “R-raiders! Raiders, out of nowhere!” She reaches forward to grab my arm, but I step back and draw my pistol out of it’s make-shift holster.

“And you fought them off, did you?” She freezes again, and there’s an extended second where all we do is look at each other. As soon as she reaches behind her, I point my barrel directly between her eyes. 

I hesitate for a heartbeat - what if she does need help? What if I’m paranoid? But her mouth opens like she’s about to shout for backup and I see the glint of a pistol pass by her hip. So the next second, her head is in pieces. The next second after that, I catch a blur of movement in my right peripheral just before something collides with my head, throwing me to the ground.

Fucking  _ ow _ . I roll to the side and raise my gun, trying desperately to force my swimming and blurred vision to focus. I barely make out a figure as it comes towards me, raising something over its head. Three of my bullets tear through their stomach, the thing drops from their hands and makes a clatter on the ground, and they stumble and collapse. 

Head still spinning, I can barely sit upright without feeling like I’m gonna fall over again. I resort to kneeling and swing my gun left and right, searching for more attackers. I don’t see any movement, nor do any bullets whiz past me. The world starts to balance out but my vision is still fuzzy - moreso than it has been even with my fucked up eye. Instinctively I press my palm into my head, and feel the same sticky wetness I’ve come to know so well. 

“Goddamnit.” Looking at my palm confirms it - blood. Only a little, though. The force of the bat must’ve torn my skin. That’s gonna leave a mark; and on my good side, too. Damnit.

Finally I get to both feet, and once my vision smooths out a bit more, I realize the guy’d been wearing armor. Kind of. Only his chest, arms and legs had been covered. I must have been at just the right angle for my bullets to go through the soft, unprotected tissue of his stomach. As I look down at his body, instead of feeling guilty or jittery, I start thinking how just one bullet-to-the-gut will fuck you up bad, and I should’ve saved the other two bullets and let the fucker suffer. I should probably worry about that, but I can’t be bothered about it now.

I give his body a good strong kick when I notice something else. On his torso piece is a sort of five-pronged symbol. It takes a few turns of my head to get an idea of what it’s supposed to be. Best guess, some kind of outstretched eagles foot. It seems somehow familiar...

Rifling through his pockets answers my questions. He’s got another note of bounty on my head, same as the guys who ambushed me and Jack outside of the metro station. Is it still that rich asshole I pissed off? Seems like a lot of effort for the sake of pride. But what do I know? World like this, maybe pride is all a man has. Pride and a lot of money. 

I kick him again, this time to his head. Asshole. I’m gonna have a headache all goddamn day now. 

 

When I get back to Megaton, I head straight for Simms’s place. 

“Yes?” He calls from inside.

“It’s m- uh, Blake. I cleared out the -”

“Ah, yes. Come in.”

Same as before, I enter the half house, half office and take a seat before Simms who, not like before, is standing and reading something with moderate concern. 

“Uh, sir?”

He looks up surprised, despite that he’d just told me to come in. “Ah, Blake! Good news, I take it?”

“The raiders inside the way station are taken care of.”

“Yes, so I heard.” He sits down, and so do I. “First things first, here is your payment.” He sets down a surprisingly large bag of caps before me. “Susan told me you did quite well. Quick, clean and efficient.” 

I glance up from the bag of caps, putting together his meaning with ease. “You had her follow me?” That’s totally not creepy at all. 

“I wanted to see how you’d do. One of our hires a while ago cleared a place out with a baseball bat with nails in it. Not pretty. Not reliable, either. Some of them got away while he was caving in another’s skull.”

Jesus. Thanks for that nice mental image. “So, what, you were testing me?” You’d think someone who calls themselves ‘sheriff’ wouldn’t be so fuckin’ slimey, but I guess I’m still setting my expectations too high. 

“Think of it more like an audition. I’ve got a bigger, much more important job that needs done, but it needs to be done right. I know having you followed was...shady, but I needed to know how you work. If you knew you had backup, or that you were being judged, you might’ve acted differently. But now that I know for myself what you’re capable of, I’m prepared to make you an offer. One that will pay even better than the last; if you’d be willing to hear it, of course.” 

I waver on the line of whether or not to trust this guy. Everyone I’ve met so far seems some degree of two faced, but usually one sort of outweighs the other. I don’t have him pinned down yet, so I’m not sure what to think. 

“Did you send those bounty guys after me, too?”

His brow furrows. “Bounty guys?” 

“Yeah, the girl and guy in the armor. With the eagles foot or whatever.”

“Eagles foot?” His confusion shifts to something else - surprise? “Wait, black armor? With a white claw inside a circle?” 

“Yeah. That wasn’t - ?”

“Hah!” He laughs heartily for a moment, then actually claps me on the shoulder. “No, Blake, that wasn’t me. But that certainly affirms my decision.” 

My eyes narrow. “Why? What do you know about them?” 

“Not much, to be quite honest with you.” He leans back in his chair, interlacing his fingers and resting them on his torso. “I know they’re a mercenary group, but they’re relatively...selective of which jobs they actually take. By which I mean, they’ll hunt down any poor soul who’s got a shred of a decent reputation.” He strokes his beard. “You called them ‘bounty’ guys...?”

I dig through my bag and hand him the folded notes I’d found on their bodies. 

“Interesting. So someone specifically wants you dead...very interesting.” 

“Think it might be that Mr. Burke? Or at least, the guy he’s working for?”

“Do you?” He hands them back to me.

“Yeah, I do.” 

“I can surely see that being the case.” He looks me over and leans forward again. “Now, about my offer.” 

“Right. Go ahead.” 

“In the interest of full disclosure, I had intended to send you on another ‘milk-run’, as it were. Take care of some mirelurks to the southwest, that kind of thing. But I can see now that would be a waste of both of our time. You see, there’s something I’ve been trying to find the right person for. Something rather sensitive in nature that I can only discuss with someone who has proven to be trustworthy and of integrity. I believe you’ve done so, in more ways than one. What I need help with is disarming that bomb.” 

I’m dumbstruck for a moment. “The...the bomb. At the town center?” 

“That’s the one. Still active, as I think you know. Mr. Burke’s employer wouldn’t be the first to want to, ah,  _ take advantage  _ of that. Aside from the immediate risk of it detonating at any moment, it could be easily rigged to explode under someone else’s command. It’s a monumental liability and risk that needs taken care of.” 

...Fuck. Why couldn’t it have been something easy like curing a disease or reprogramming the city’s power grid? It  _ had _ to be explosives. “There’s not someone more... _ qualified _ to do that?” 

“Not that I can trust, no.” 

“I...well...s-sure. I’m gonna need some time to, uh, prepare, but I’ll...take a look.” I try to swallow, but there’s a new dryness in my throat. 

“I don’t think I have to warn you not to attempt it unless you’re absolutely ready.” He comforts me a little, but then says, “One wrong micro move and this crater gets a bit bigger.” Great. So, y’know, no pressure. 

“Alright, well, I better...get started, then. Preparations and all.” 

“Do it right, and there’s a significant reward in store.” Oddly enough, that’s not really helpful. 

“Right. Is there anything else?” 

“No, that will be all. Thank you, Blake.” 

I wait until I’m outside the door to let my expression shift into one of slight terror. A  _ bomb _ ? A fucking  _ atomic bomb _ ?! Christ. There’s no fucking way I can handle that shit. Maybe,  _ maybe  _ with enough study and some hands-on practice, but where the hell am I going to get my hands on the right tools to fuck around with explosives?

Oh, duh. Moira. I also still have the book she lent me. That might at least help a little bit in the meantime until I have a better idea of what I’m doing. Which, come to think of it, makes me wonder. Why couldn’t the sheriff ask her to do it? She already has more experience with this kind of thing than I do. Is there a reason he doesn’t trust her? Course, I’m not sure I’d trust her around that grade of explosives, either.

In any case, she’d at least be a good resource. I check the time on my pip-boy - it’s late enough that if I wanna beat the shower rush, I should go now and just eat later. I skim a little more of the book in the short line for the shower, and more later as I wait for and proceed to eat my dinner. Decided to spoil myself a bit with a brahmin steak - figure I almost lost an eye, a little bit of luxury is warranted. 

Finding the steak is starting to actually taste  _ good _ is a testament to how long I’ve been out here. Out of curiosity, I check the date; it’s been just over two weeks since I left the vault. Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like I’ve been out here for months at least. I get an anxious twist in my stomach - on the one hand, I’m glad I haven’t been wasting as much time as it felt like. And it’s been a very...educational two weeks, to say the least. But on the other, now I know just how much can happen in only two weeks. In only two days. In only two minutes. 

Which brings me back to this fucking bomb. Do I prioritise it? Megaton is the only place where I actually have some semblance of safety and resources. Do I risk losing those in favor of barreling into the wastes? Do I take the extra time to secure the safety of the people, and risk losing my father while I do? Of course, I know which one he would chose. In a heartbeat. Moira and I are gonna be real close buddies. 

The next day, I stop by her place first thing in the morning. Apparently getting my face torn apart by an oversized radioactively mutated bear isn’t enough masochism for one week. 

“Hey! How’s my little researcher doing?” 

“Hey, Moira. Listen, I need your help with something.”

“Sure! What can I do for ya?” 

“The sheriff asked me to uh...disarm the bomb at the town center, but I’m kind of...out of my depths with it. I still have that book you gave me, but do you have anything else that could -”

“Of course! Y’know, the Sheriff asked me the very same thing!” 

“He did?”

“Oh yeah, course I can’t go anywhere near the thing, I’m so glad he found someone else!”

As if someone would need any  _ other  _ reason not to go near a giant active atomic bomb, “Why can’t do you near it?”

“Oh, those silly Atom folks got a little...territorial when I tried running experiments on the ground surrounding the bomb. You know how they can get!”

“Err...no, actually. Atom...folks?” 

“Yeah, the Church of Atom? Oh, of course, you haven’t been around long. Been avoiding those lower rings I take it?” Her tone is as chipper as ever.

“Well, yeah, I figured I’d opt for the lethal doses of radiation to  _ after  _ I lose a limb. Did you say it’s a  _ church _ ?”

“Mm-hmm! Church of Atom, whole collection of ‘em down there. They worship the thing, y’know.”

“...Really.” Just when you think you’ve seen everything. 

“Yeah, quite enamoured with it! So when I took some soil samples, and maybe teensy little hair sample or two they got a little...defensive, so I never got a close look at the thing. Y’know...” She looks at me, falters, and averts her eyes. 

“What?”

“Well, I know how this is going to sound, but, one thing that would actually help...there’s another chapter in my book, one about landmines?”

I roll my eyes closed. This fucking book is going to be the death of me - literally. “Yes?”

“If you could bring one or two back, we could take them apart to determine how they’re wired. We’d have to figure out how it translates to the bomb afterwards, but it’d be a nudge in the right direction!” 

I chew on my inner lip as I think about this. It’s already getting more complicated than I was hoping for. “How are  _ landmines _ going to help us? Isn’t that a little ‘apples to oranges’?” 

“Maybe a little,” she tilts her head “But they’re both still fruit, right? Every explosive has the same elements: a reactant that causes the explosion, a trigger mechanism and some way to allow it to explode under a calculated timeframe or circumstance. If we can take apart those landmines and figure out how theirs work, we might be able to determine how it translates to a larger scale.”

I sit in silence. It...sort of makes sense, actually. But that’s coming from me, who only knows as much about explosives as which part of the grenade to throw. 

“Think of it like,” she continues. “A pistol versus a canon. It’s the same principle, a spark that ignites and triggers a combustion to launch a projectile, but on different scales and with different ratios. If we can at least get the premise down...” 

Shit, I can’t argue that. “Alright, alright, I see your point.” I raise my eyebrow, trying to find the slightest crack of deceit or ulterior motives in those big brown puppy dog eyes of hers. “And that it helps with your book is just an added bonus, right?”

“Happy coinky-dink!” 

“Mmhmm. Fine, fine, I’ll go get your stupid fuckin’ landmines. Tomorrow.” I head towards the door, it’s about time to start my evening routine.  

“Thaaaank you Blake! It’ll be worth it, promise!”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’d better be. Course, it’s another opportunity to gain some experience in the Wasteland, but I can’t let her know that. I’d never hear the fuckin’ end of it. 

Couple weeks of coming to the same bar means that by this point, a quick jerk of the chin is the only greeting between myself and Leo, the bartender. I’m even enough of a regular that he usually sets some whiskey out for me as I sit down. Kinda nice, these little bits of regularity I get in bursts throughout the day. Maybe, if I am able to find my dad, this wouldn’t be the worst place to take root in. I can’t deny the appeal in that.

That thought, and any other, is purged from my mind when my eyes fall upon a familiar patron with brown hair and sunglasses. 

“Hey, stranger.” Oh god, I didn’t  _ actually _ just say that, did I? I can’t decide if that’s better or worse than ‘fancy seeing you here’. Lord, take me now. I sit down to his left, specifically to keep the mangled half of my face out of his view. I nod in thanks to Leo as he hands me my glass.

“How’s the eye?” Jack asks after taking a swig of his own drink.

“Fucked. I can still kinda see out of it, though. That’s good. I guess.” 

He shrugs. “Better ‘n the alternative.” 

Once again I’m wondering about the sunglasses before I remember it’s not my fucking business. “So, can I buy you that drink?” He considers it, finishes his glass in a single gulp, and motions for the bartender to bring another, which he does.

Jack holds his glass up in an invitation to toast. “To survivin’, fucked up as we are.” 

“Hah! Shit, I’ll drink to that. Cheers.” He downs half of his but I only get a small mouthful. Guess I’m still working my way up to that ‘alcoholic’ ranking. Suddenly, I’m urged to ask him to come with me to the minefield, and this time I can’t even pretend it’s the alcohol that makes me nauseous. 

I can’t just ask him to go with no pretense. The first time we even went anywhere, we just happened to be on the same job. Well, I got kind of strong armed into it, but it was still coincidence. And then we just happened to be travelling together. And then...well, then he did kind of come with me of his own accord to the police station. But maybe he just didn’t think it could be done. Maybe he went along for the loot. Either way, I can’t just flutter my eyelashes and ask him to go traipsing into a fucking minefield as a personal favor. 

We alternate taking drinks from our glasses as we sit in silence. Nothing awkward or tense about it, just...having a drink. That’s kinda nice, too.

Maybe I could hire him?

_ With what fucking money, idiot? _ Says Brain. Well...I have a few caps saved up. And he can keep some of the mines we find, I only need one or two. I imagine those sell for at least a bit. And it’s a short trip, not like it’s terribly out of the way. 

Besides, what’s the worst thing he can say? No? ‘Are you fucking insane, I’m never travelling with you again you batshit crazy - ‘ okay, so, there’s worse things he can say. But the more I think about it, the more I don’t want to go alone. If I was on my own on the way back to Megaton that day, I’d be bear shit by now. And it’s not like there’s anyone else out here I know or trust enough to watch my back. 

I take another drink, and the shiver that usually goes up my back spills out of my mouth instead as “I’ve got a proposition for you.” Shit. Shit. Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I was just trying to put it together in my head. But I really don’t want to go alone. Shit.

“Aye?” He quirks an eyebrow and turns his head toward me, smirking a little. Oh good, I really needed my heart to beat even  _ faster _ .

“I’ve got another job from Moira. And, if I’ve learned anything the past week, it’s that I don’t know anything.” He snorts. That’s a good sign, right? “And that if I wanna step foot outside Megaton, it’d be wise for me to have someone making sure I don’t die.” He doesn’t say anything. I was expecting him to say something, and it’d give me a chance to figure out how to phrase the next bit. But he doesn’t, so I fumble a little, anxiously rolling my glass between my hands. “And I- well, you’ve been really helpful lately and- I know it was more by coincidence than anything, but if it weren’t for- I mean, you really - ” Okay, stop. Take a breath. Start over. I turn to face him, which is made only slightly easier by the fact I can’t actually see his eyes through those fucking sunglasses. He’s turned fully towards me, an elbow propped up on the counter and resting his jaw on his fist, and suddenly I feel like I’m making a much more...dramatic proposal. “I’d like to hire you. I don’t expect you to pull that kind of shit as a personal favor or anything. I’ll pay you, in caps and supplies if you’d like. To uh, go with me. Take the job, and watch my back...” I peter off, anti-climatically. 

His mouth shifts, either like he’s licking his teeth or fighting a smirk. And then I remember that I’m trying to hide half of my face from him and turn swiftly back to the counter. 

“What’s the job?”

“Hah, um, the short version is we need some intact landmines. I guess there’s a place a little north -”

“The  _ minefield _ ?” He lifts his head from its resting position. “She wants you to go to  _ the minefield _ ?” 

Great. It’s got a ‘The’ name. “Well, yes, but it’s not just for her. I sort’ve need one, too. But, I only need one or two, so any others we bring back,” I make a sweeping gesture in his direction. “All yours. To sell or...whatever.  _ Plus  _ whatever I pay  _ and  _ whatever other supplies we find.”

He turns his head away, this time to contemplatively stroke the bushel of hair at his chin. He’s got such a strong jawline. “What’s your plan? What’re you gonna do once you get there?”

Do I tell him I’m scouting the area to help write a book about dumbass, rookie mistakes like mine? That I’m hoping to take one apart so I can hopefully teach myself how to deactivate a dormant atom bomb? That I’m trying to learn as much about survival as I possibly can before I go charging into the heart of D.C.? “Hopscotch.” He drops his head a little and laughs - nice smile, too.

“Yeah, alright.” 

“Wait, really?” 

“Sure. Intact mines go for a good price.” 

That was...significantly easier than I was expecting. “Oh...! Okay! Great! Uh, tomorrow, meet at the gate around, like, ten?”

“Sure.” He finishes his drink, and I remember I have my own to work on. I feel like I should leave now that I’ve made the deal. I check the time on my pip-boy, and it’s already late enough that I missed my chance for a shower tonight. I probably have enough time to stay for the rest of my drink, and maybe one more, and still get a bed at the common house. So I do.

 

“Okay...I HAVE to ask. I’m sorry, I have to ask.” I’m about three drinks in, working on my fourth, and we’ve actually been kinda sorta getting along, so I’m coaxed into a potentially false sense of security and amiability. “What the  _ fuck _ is with the sunglasses?”

About to take a drink, he lowers the glass to the counter, drops his head and sighs, but he’s smiling. I like it when he smiles. He glances to the side, judging proximity to his nearest neighbors. By this time, most of the bar has cleared out and there’s only the die-hard drinkers left. He turns back towards me, sizing me up. “Alright, answer for an answer.” The hand holding his glass points a finger at me. “What’s with the jacket?” 

I glance down, having actually forgotten that it was a unique part of my wardrobe. My mind floats through images and memories of Butch, of our fights, of Amata, of my dad, of Paul... “It was a sort of...gang, down in the Vault.” 

“ _ You  _ were in a g-ang?” He actually laughs, and I scoff back indignantly. For a second I’m torn between correcting him, and going along with it in defense of my own reputation. 

“What if I was?” I have to bite my tongue to keep from smiling too wide.

He opens his mouth, closes it, shakes his head and takes a drink. “Nothin.” I click my tongue and smack him across the shoulder. He snorts, a smile breaking over his face again. 

“For your information...no,  _ I  _ myself was not in the gang, but - don’t fucking la-ugh!” I do nothing to help my own case by laughing myself. “I didn’t have to be in the gang to beat the shit out of their ‘leader’ on a weekly basis.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He says in the tone of one humoring a child.

“Oh, fuck off!” I take another drink, too flustered to come to my own defense. 

“No, no, I’m sure it was -” 

“Whatever it  _ was _ ,” I cut him off, and he laughs again. “I think I’ve made up for it since. I think I’ve held up alright so far.” Granted, he did save my ass once already. But besides that...

He nods and lifts his glass. “Now that, I can’t argue.” I’m a little surprised, I’d expected another tease or jibe. But I lift my glass, too, and we clink in cheers before each taking a final swig, and ordering another round. 

“Okay, your turn. Answer for an answer. What’s with the sunglasses?” His smile falters a little, and I feel the familiar chill of guilt in my stomach. Maybe I shouldn’t have pressed?

“It’s...I’m not blind, as we’ve established, but I was born with what is essentially an extreme sensitivity to light. Room like this -” He gestures around to the dull lighting and darkened atmosphere. “Is fairly tolerable with the sunglasses. Without ‘em...well, it’s not enjoyable.” 

“Woah...So down in the metro tunnel, that was...?”

“That was pretty nice actually, yeah. My vision is best in places like that.” 

“Huh. Did something happen, or is it like, a genetic thing?” Inebriated as I am, it’s still plain that I’m getting into some uncomfortable territory. “Fuck, sorry. Science brain.” I wave my hand around my head. “Always have to know the how’s and why’s of everything. Got better manners when I’m sober.” I tease, trying to lighten the mood or change the topic even somewhat.

He polishes off his glass and stands from his stool. “Well, I’d better call it a night.” 

“Aw shit, dude, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -” 

He puts a hand up. “It’s fine, really. I was gettin’ ready to leave anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe around eleven.” He smiles, but it’s obviously forced. Is it? I actually can’t fuckin tell. I am  _ drunk _ . 

“R-right, okay. Yeah. Have a good night...” I can’t help but feel utterly deflated as he walks away. Like my heart had been in its proper place in my chest, floating high towards the top, and now sank to the bottom of my stomach like lead. I wait a few minutes out of respect, let him get some distance, before counting (and re-counting, and re-re-counting) out the caps I owe, and sliding off my own stool.

The walk back to the common house seems like the longest it’s ever been. Every step I’m more tired than the last, ready to just pass out wherever I fall.  _ Almost there _ , I keep telling myself.  _ Almost there. Almost there _ . Finally I stumble through the door, waking half of the people on the first floor who grumble and hiss angry whispers. 

“Sshh!” Wait, shit, I need to shush, not them. “I mean...sh..sorry...sorry...” First floor, full. Second floor, full. Third floor...full. My last hope, the godawful torture couch on the fourth floor. Open. As agonizing as it was the first time, falling into its flattened, stained cushions actually feels really comfortable. I got just enough juice left in me to guzzle the entire contents of my canteen before slipping into a completely dreamless sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

I’m surprised at how much my head  _ doesn’t _ hurt when I wake up in the morning. Either I’m getting used to drinking copious amounts of alcohol, or I’m still drunk. Either way, I call it a win. At least I’m not going to feel like death before even getting to the - fuck! The minefield! What time is it? 

Double fuck. It’s half til noon at this point. Shit! I head down the stairs two at a time and out the door. Fuck, there’s the headache. Oh well. There’s no way he’d have waited there for almost two hours. Where would he have gone? To the bar? Home? Come to think of it, I wonder where he stays when he’s in Megaton. 

My jog rolls to a halt as I realize there’s no use in rushing now. In any case, he’s definitely not still there. And I need food. I refill my canteen in the commons bathroom sink, which is really the best I’m gonna get without paying out the ass for purified water. At least it doesn’t make me nauseous anymore. For breakfast, I grab a kebab that I can eat on the way.

Walking towards the gate, he’s nowhere to be seen. Do I try looking for him? I don’t want to come off as desperate or clingy, but at the same time, I did hire him. Sort of. I have no idea what the protocol is here. I just stand there like an idiot, staring stupidly at the gate, trying to decide what to do when it’s decided for me.

“Back amongst the living?” He walks up the path behind me, smoking a cigarette and dressed in the same long duster he wore when we had our first run in. He doesn’t carry a pack, which makes me think there’s gotta be somewhere he’s staying. “Figured you’d sleep in a bit. Drank enough whiskey t’put down a brahmin.” 

“Y’know, I think I’m still walking it off.”

“Surprised you’re out at all.” 

“Yeah, well, time nor tide, right?” 

He stares blankly for a second. “...What?”  

“Err, ‘time nor tide wait for no man’? It’s a phrase.” Not a popular one, apparently. 

He nods comprehendingly and takes a drag of his cigarette. “Right, well, that bein’ the case, you ready to go?” 

I nod, and we’re on our way.

 

An hour later, we dip behind Big Town and take the bridge that crosses over the gorge below. From the curve of the land, it looks like this used to be a massive river. Now, it’s about a third as deep and a really awful color, full of debris and God knows what else.

Looking down over the has-been river, I can also see the the tiny town we’re headed to. As we come up the road on the other side of the bridge, I spot a sad little playground. A pop of chipped color in the blanket of grey and brown. Not a single building is left intact. Abandoned cars sit on the side of the road, pillaged for rubber and sheet metal. It’s just like Springvale, and I find myself wandering again amongst the fantasy of what must have been here before.

Meandering forward in my reverie, it takes Jack shouting my name to snap me out of it and bring my attention to the giant ‘MINEFIELD KEEP OUT’ signs I’d apparently missed, which urges me to glance around again with a different lense. Instead of painting a picture of some peaceful might-have-been, I’m pouring over the details of the deadly here-and-now. Already I can spot about three mines just laying on the concrete. Now, it’s not spotting them that’s an issue so much. Even the ones that are hidden show cracks in the dried dirt, a significant bump under newspapers, or a ‘conveniently placed’ bushel of twigs and rock. The problem becomes disarming them.

According to Moira, they’re not like pre-war landmines that rely on pressure sensitivity, but rather have a magnetic field that, when disturbed, triggers the mechanism. The button is what enables the magnetic field, while the knob completes the connection of wires necessary for the actual explosion. Someone setting the mine will hold down the button, disabling the magnetic field, turn the switch to connect, and place the mine. That delay works both ways - they have a few seconds to get out of range before the field actually goes live.

Which means I have about three seconds to get to the mine, press the button and turn the knob. If I don’t press the button, the knob won’t turn. So I’ve got to do this exactly right. Jack hangs back a little while I advance on the first mine. I go step by step until I hear the first  _ click _ . Then I leap forward, fall to my knees, thumb on button, turn knob, LEFT NOT RIGHT. The clicking stops, and I wait for my inevitable death.

But it doesn’t come. This time. “Hah!” I jump up, waving the mine victoriously.

“Great, you got one, let’s go.” 

“Aw, c’mon, Jack! Don’t you want a shiny new pair of sunglasses? I bet they’d really bring out that scowl.” He frowns, which makes me laugh. I toss the mine to him to put in my pack, which he carries so I’m not weighed down and can move more swiftly. This is a fairly delicate operation. “Just a few more, okay? Some to sell, and I want one for myself.” Now that I know the range these things have, it makes the next few a breeze. Plucking up the fourth one, I bolt upright like a startled mole rat. A sound...?

“...Did you hear that?” I ask.

“Hear what, you being completely insane? Yeah, loud and clear.” Jack calls, still standing by the sign. For fucks sake.

“Would you get over here already? If I had missed any, I’d have blown up by now.” 

He visibly sighs and shifts uncomfortably on the spot. I’m about to tell him to stop being a baby when I hear the noise again, a sort of ‘ _ thunk _ ’, like when I’d throw a tennis ball against the wall. Looking at Jack, I can tell he heard it, too. His gaze sweeps around and falls to a car on the other side of the street. “Blake, move! The car!” 

Glancing at it for all of .2 seconds, I notice two very important things. First, a pair of large, angled, round punctures. Second, and more importantly, are the thin plumes of smoke rising from the hood of the car, and it doesn’t take much research to know that smoke and machinery are not friends.

No time left to wonder about it. I  sprint to the nearest house, and at the exact same time that I slide into cover behind the wall, the car erupts in an enormous explosion. A miniature mushroom cloud rises out of the black heap that used to be its frame and I’m blasted with heat, like opening the oven but ten times the scale.  I’d forgotten that the pre-war cars also ran on nuclear fission. 

Jack and I look at each other for a minute. I start laughing and throw him a thumbs up, when;  _ Click _ .

_ Shit _ . Sitting on my left side in my fucked up peripheral, is a mine. Far enough out of reach that I can either try disabling it, or - and what I do instead - is launch forward off the house and sprint down the hill. 

And it’s  _ almost  _ enough. 

The explosion launches me even further, into the remnants of the neighboring broken home. I turn for the impact and my shoulder hits the ground first before I slide to a stop behind a chunk of concrete foundation. My ears are ringing and I can open my eyes, but even though I think I’m sitting still the world is churning like I’m still rolling forward. I push up from the ground, trying to sit upright and figure out what’s going on. 

I turn my head towards the house where I was sitting. Whatever wood had been there is completely gone. I look back towards Jack, but I don’t see him. I feel something damp on my leg. The pant of my right leg is halfway gone. Part of my boot is singed away, along with most of the skin from my ankle to my knee, and a nice chunk taken out of my calf. Most of the skin around the wound is cauterized, but the missing strips of muscle are bleeding freely.

My stomach drops out completely. I feel empty. Dizzy. A cold grip takes over my lungs and heart. I’m not even sure I’m still breathing. My leg. My leg...!

Blood. Lots of blood. I’m supposed to...for blood...something. I can’t...I can’t think. There’s so much. And the muscles in my calf, the burnt and twisted skin. Fuck. I can’t stop staring. I can’t breathe. Fuck. Oh fuck. 

“Jesus fuckin christ, Blake!” Blake...that’s me, isn’t it? I’m not aware of turning my head but I’m staring at this guy instead of my leg. His lips are moving and I can hear that he’s talking but I don’t really know what he’s saying. I feel the ground fall out from beneath me for a second, and then something solid at my back. He grabs my shoulders and makes me even dizzier with a shake.

Fuck, my leg. Blood, muscles, skin, burns, pain,  _ my fucking leg! _

_ Wham! _

His open palm collides with my cheek. “Blake, for fucks sake!” 

“Wha?! I..what...” I blink a few times over, like waking up from a vivid dream. Landmine, chemical explosion, no shrapnel. Flesh and sinew torn from leg. No arterial damage. Stem blood flow. Tourniquet, stimpak, pressure. “Stop the bloodflow. Have to stop the bloodflow. Pressure, or stimpak, or...” He’s already doing it before I get the words out of my mouth. Sticks a needle, bigger than the stimpaks I’m used to, right in next to the torn flesh.

Blood flow slows to a trickle, then stops. Next is...is...“What...happened? Why did that car -”

“Sniper.” He says, now ripping something to tie tight around my leg. He’s got my pack next to him - fuck, is that my spare shirt? “Shot the engine, made it blow.”

“A sniper...?” I gotta force myself to try and stay focused, think through the pain and fog. What the hell is a sniper doing in a place like this? And why... “Why’d ‘e...why’d ‘e shoot the car...instead of...?” Fuck, talking takes a lot of effort. 

Jack shakes his head, tying off the make-shift tourniquet. “Dunno. It’d have been easy to do, you  _ were  _ just standin’ out in the wide open like a goddamn idiot.”

My attempt at a laugh comes out as a meek huff of air. He ties off the shirt, nice and tight, covering the whole leg. “So were you, though. Why not...” Why me? Because I was close to the car? Is this guy just a fuckin’ sadist? I didn’t hear the shot, either. Silencer? Why bother with a silencer if you’re gonna blow a fuckin’ car? Why not just blow off my head instead? 

My heart jumps. There’s something...something in my memory relevant to this. But I can’t fuckin’ think straight. Head...why not just blow off my head...

‘ _ For a change of pace, they actually want the head this time. _ ’

...Oh,  _ fuck me _ .

“Goddamnit, it’s the fucking bounty! Agh!” The second I try to move, pain shoots up my entire body. “Med-x. I need some med-x.” He starts digging through my pack. “Small pocket, front.” Finding the syringe, he injects it straight into my thigh, and the results are almost immediate. The pain recedes - for now - and my thoughts are a little more focused. “Alright, fuck this. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” 

He stands, gripping my forearm and helping me to my feet. Or, foot, I guess. Using the remaining frame of the house as cover, I peek out onto the street to search for the safest way out of the area. My head’s not out for three seconds before a bullet buries itself in the concrete right next to me, inches away from my chest. “Shit!” 

I nearly fall backwards with the recoil, but Jack’s other hand catches the small of my back. Fuck, this is bad. The house next to us is boarded up on our side, which means if we want to use it as cover, we still have to dart out onto the street to get in through the front. We could try through the back, but there’s no more cover in that direction than any other. 

Maybe I can at least get a general position on him. Figure out what direction he’s shooting from, and use that to figure out our next move. I poke my head out again, as little as necessary to examine the bullet hole in the concrete. Pretty extreme angle. There’s another burst of dust and chips as a second bullet is shot into the wall next to it. I flinch, take in the angle on that one, and duck back inside the house before he has a chance to reload. 

“Looks like he’s somewhere to the north, those bullets - FUCK!” 

He fires again, this time shattering one of the wooden beams over my head. Jack raises an arm, shielding us from the shower of splinters and chunks of wood. Few more shots, the guys gonna take down our cover and force is out. 

“FUCK OFF!” I yell at the top of my lungs, and a second later there’s another shot into the wood framing above us. There’s another burst of wood chips, but nothing else seems to shake or come loose. For now. 

“We need to get out of here.” Jack says unhelpfully.

“You don’t fuckin say?! But we can’t make a move without putting ourselves in the open. We might be able to go around the back, but I don’t know that we’d have enough cover.”

Another shot, and I look around the area he’s firing into. It’s a pretty narrow range. There’s plenty of wide gaps in the side walls of the house, but his shots are only hitting in areas closer to the street. Maybe the house beside us is blocking his line of fire? That’d help to pinpoint the bastard. 

My eyes dart back and forth, glancing at the area of the bullet holes, following their imaginary trajectory, judging the distance between where he’s able to shoot and where we have cover. After some quick geometry, I think...I might have an idea of where he is. 

“Jack, think you can keep him distracted?”

He stares, then slowly starts to shake his head. “Oh, no. No. You’re going to do something really fucking stupid, aren’t you?” 

“That depends on where you define the line between stupidity and cleverness.”

“Jesus Christ, Bla-”

“Save it.” I snap, checking my pistol. “Save me your goddamn speech, I’m not interested. This guy tried to  _ blow me up _ with a  _ car _ , so he could saw my  _ head _ off of my  _ dead body _ to turn into some  _ rich fuck _ for a pat on the head and a bag of caps. And y’know, I was gonna let that go. I was gonna just take it in stride, go home and lick my wounds. But he had to keep. Fucking. Shooting at me. I’m going after this asshole, and I’ll go after  _ every other _ asshole that comes after him, and I am  _ not _ going to have this fucking argument each time. Now I hired you for a job, but this is new fuckin’ territory. You gotta decide, right here. You can either shut up, help me and forever hold your peace, or you can stay the fuck out of my way.” 

He just stares at me in total silence. He goes for so long without saying anything, I actually think he’s going to just walk away. I shake my head and move towards the corner of the house, plotting my route when he says “What do you need me to do?” I force down a smile before turning to face him again. 

“Just, keep his focus on you. Blind fire, stick a rock out instead of your head, just keep his attention on this spot. 

“And what are you gonna-” I raise my eyebrows in warning. “I’m just fucking asking! If I’m gonna be in on the plan, it helps to actually know the fucking plan.”

Can’t begrudge him that. Problem is, I hadn’t exactly figured out that part yet. The neighborhood street goes in almost a straight line, and I know he’s firing from somewhere directly ahead. There’s about four houses between here and there, so on a larger scale, I can play it the same way as the Super Duper Mart. Sneak along the back, use the houses as cover, and figure out the rest when I get to the next checkpoint.

“I’ve got a general idea of where he’s camped. If I can sneak along the back of the buildings, I might be able to get the jump on him.” 

He waits for me to say more. I don’t. I see his jaw clench as he’s fighting back some lecture or another. He opens his mouth, I give him a ‘I-fucking-dare-you’ look, he clicks his tongue and just says “Fine. Great. I only have so many bullets, so don’t take all fuckin’ day about it.” 

“Yeah, you be careful, too.”

I move as quickly as possible up to the house ahead, walking back over my path of trajectory from the landmine. A bit further from the blast zone, I look down over bright spatterings of my own blood. I think I’m about to throw up, but I force it down and try to think about anything other than my leg. I hear muffled bursts of concrete and wood exploding, followed by the thunderous echoes of Jack’s magnum. I’m trying to use my blasted leg as little as possible, but it’s not easy.

Right as I dart into the shade of the third house on the row, I think I can start to hear the ‘ _ cha-chink _ ’ of a reloading rifle. Edging a little closer, it’s confirmed, in perfect rhythm between sharp bursts of air and the clatter of empty shell casings onto concrete. 

Gotcha, asshole. 

Can’t think about my leg. Can’t think about the pain. Can’t think about what I’m doing or I might not actually do it. Just gotta keep moving forward, focusing on this asswipe who’s trying to fucking kill me. By the end of the last house on the row, my leg is bleeding through the t-shirt. I gotta make this quick. 

The cement building up ahead, I don’t know what it used to be, but the entire back half is gone now. Lucky me. If I’d tried to go in through the front, it probably would have been locked and barricaded. I’m pretty sure I see the same path that the shooter uses to get to that perch. There’s a small pile of rubble leading up to the second floor, where it joins with the landing of a staircase that leads up to the third. Nothing’s ever easy. 

Just covering the distance between the houses has done a lot of damage. The shirt around my calf is starting to feel damp, and I’m having a harder time keeping down the nausea. But Jack is still firing, and this asshole is still firing back. I just gotta get up there. Just a little more to go.

If I’ve made quick progress until now, the pile of rubble slows me like molasses. Not exactly the easiest terrain to hop up, and there’s nowhere to grip and use my arms instead. As I get towards the top, I get hasty and put too much weight on my right leg, almost taking a dive. I’m barely able to choke down a cry despite the pain that goes through me like a shot, but I definitely dislodge some of the rubble. I can only hope this sniper is more focused on Jack’s magnum than small sounds like rocks tumbling down an incline. 

I finally make it to the landing, but have to stop, just for a few seconds and regain some strength. Control my breathing so I don’t give myself away. Fight the temptation to shout through the pain. Wipe some of the sweat dripping down my forehead.

Up we go, step by step, one by one. My heart is racing so fast, I’m worried I’ll bleed out before I even fuckin’ get there. But finally I come upon the last plateau, and there he is. Laying flat in the corner of the room, rifle pointing out the window with a couple ammo boxes beside him. At first I go for my 10 mil, but then I have a change of heart. No, I bypass it and go for my knife instead, the big combat one I got from the first merc shit-stain who tried to take me down. I’m almost on him when my leg gives, and with all the adrenaline and my lack of focus and anxiety, I shout. Shit. Now or never. 

I lurch forward, knife brandished. The guy grabs a tiny pistol laying beside him, rolls over, fires. I lunge. I feel his bullet tear through my side, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in my leg, or the fury in my chest. Nothing to the satisfaction of my blade plunging into his neck over and over, or the gurgling sound he makes as he tries to plead while drowning in his own blood.

When he finally stops twitching, I scramble to sit against the wall, and that’s it. I can barely move an inch. If he came back to life right now, I’d be fucked. But I got you first, asshole. 

Jack’s not firing anymore. That’s a nice rifle. Is someone yelling? I grab the end of it and lay it across my lap. I’m taking this, you fucking prick. That big shiny rifle of yours. It’s mine now. Hah. Hah. Hah. 

Fuck you. 

Someone is yelling. God, my leg hurts. I’m tired. 

“Blake?” Oh, that’s my name they’re yelling. I try to call back, but it comes out as just a huff of air. That’s a lot of blood. I think I’m dying. Again. Oh well. Sorry Dad. 

“Blake?” Voice’s louder. Think he’s closer. Try again.

“J-ack.” Well, at least that one was...kind of audible. Suddenly he appears from the staircase, holding his magnum at the ready.

“Got ‘im.” I smile as my head falls back against the wall. “Got ‘im, Jack. Got ‘is gun, too. Fuckin’ asshole. I got ‘im.” 

My head picks up and turns, but not through any effort of mine. His hands are under my jaw. He’s talking, but I don’t have the energy to listen. My vision goes in and out, and I see him rubbing his eyes, sticking something in my leg. Then he’s holding up something long and sharp, holding it like I held my knife, and swings it down - 

“Wuah!” I bolt upright, gasping for air and fighting for my lungs to keep up with my jackhammering heart. “Did you just...stab me?!” I have to take gasps between every other word, running my hand over where I’d expected something to be jutting out of my chest. 

Counter to moments before when the world was dark and out of focus, it’s now in such sharp contrast I’m aware of every crack in the concrete, each speck of gravel in the columns and piles of rubble. I can hear my heartbeat in my head and my breath in my ears. Did he just give me pure adrenaline?

“Get up.” He says shortly, and I get to my feet with surprising ease. There’s almost no pain at all; my leg feels more like I pulled a muscle than blew a chunk of it off. The shirt is almost completely red, and it’s hard to tell if it’s still bleeding. “Let’s go.” He snaps again, and I make sure to grab the rifle before we do. 

I walk with only a minor limp, and although my heart is still pounding in my chest, my respirations are almost even again. Almost. “What the hell did you give me?” 

“Stimulant.” Is all he says. He walks a few paces ahead of me, magnum out, my bag over his shoulder, and he constantly glances back. Dunno if he’s looking at me, or something else. 

“We’ve got a long walk back to Megaton and under the best circumstances, that -” he jabs a thumb over his shoulder at me. “Stimulant will only last for so long. We’re taking a shortcut, but we need to hurry.” I know I don’t know him that well, but he definitely sounds more pissed than I’ve ever heard him, and it’s starting to piss me off, too.  

“Yeah, no fucking shit.” I bark, actively trying to start an argument, goad him into another shouting match.  But he doesn’t say anything. Just checks over his shoulder again. Curiously, I look over mine, but don’t see anything that might keep grabbing his attention.  

 

The entire walk back, my heart never stops doing its Irish jig. My leg aches like an old wound from years past, which gets really fucking annoying really fucking quick, and I always feel just  _ slightly _ short of breath. Whatever this ‘stimulant’ is, it’s goddamn strong. I wonder more than a few times what it’d do to me if I hadn’t been rapidly approaching death.

Instead of crossing the river over the bridge by Big Town, we head due south for half an hour, altering the course as we come to the riverbed and Jack diverts slightly. 

The remnants of a highway overpass loom above, rising from one side of the river and descending on the other. A giant gap breaks the middle, with chunks of misshapen concrete and twisted rebar jutting from each side. Beneath it are small islands surrounding the bases of the structural supports, allowing us to cross without getting more than the first few inches of our boots wet. Good thing, too. Chems are one thing, but I’d sooner chop the leg off than dunk it into  _ that _ water. 

In another ten minutes, we’re cresting the hill just beyond Megaton. I think I can almost spot the outcropping where the vault is. It’s so strange, having it be so close yet so inaccessible. I’d expect it to make me feel sad or nostalgic, but instead I’m just...angry. I can’t fuckin believe what happened. All that chaos, all that  _ death  _ because my father left? And what the fuck did he even leave for, anyway? And why leave me behind? What fuckin - wuh...

Something feels...wrong. I’d expected whenever the stimulant wore off, my heart rate would drop, not skyrocket. It practically doubles and I feel like I can’t breathe. Christ, am I having a fucking heart attack? My chest hurts so much I can barely move, every breath makes my lungs feel like they’re wrapped in barbed wire. 

“Jack...”  

He’s a few paces below me, and I can barely raise my voice at all, but he hears me. Turning on the spot, he sees me hunched over and grabbing my chest. He swears under his breath and makes it back to me in less than three strides. 

“I can’t -”  _ wheeze  _ “Breathe.”  _ Wheeze _ . Fuck. I don’t know what is happening, and that, more than anything else I’ve experienced so far, terrifies me. I’m the daughter of a doctor, I may as well be one myself. Despite everything I’ve been through since being out here, I always knew what I needed. Why my body responded in the way it did to different kinds of trauma or stress, how to handle it, what to do next. 

But this, I don’t know what this is. I don’t know why, or what he even fucking gave me to begin with. Fuck. Fuck, I’m hyperventilating, I think my heart is  _ actually _ going to give out, and I can’t even take a full breath to try and calm down, fuck fuck  _ fuck _ . I swear to god, if this shit kills me, I’m haunting his ass for the rest of his goddamn life.

He pushes into my shoulder, trying to straighten me up, but it makes my chest feel three times as tight. I wince, try to tell him it hurts, can’t speak, just shake my head and keep wheezing. He pushes again. “It,”  _ wheeze  _ “hurts!” 

“I know, but you need to open your airways.” How the fuck is he so calm? Doesn’t he realize I’m fucking dying? But...something in my mind flickers like a lightbulb. Airways. Of course. I knew that. I fight to straighten my back, groaning and cringing at the pain in my chest. If I had the air to do so, I’d be swearing like a sailor, but with his help I’m able to square my shoulders. 

He puts a curled finger under my chin and tilts my head upward, and my hands wrap desperately around his wrist as if it’s my only connection to life. But it just makes breathing harder which makes me panic more and now my wheezes are shorter and faster, and I’m really fucking scared. My voice cracks with the strain it takes to speak, or breathe at all. “Jack, I--” 

“Breathe, Blake. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Fuck...I knew that, too. But I can’t.

It takes a lot of effort to breathe in at all, and it’s like my body’s not letting me do the right thing. I keep thinking ‘in through the nose’, but if I close my mouth for a second, I go even deeper into panic mode. He holds my cheek and uses his finger to gently close my jaw, forcing the air in through my nasal passages. I can barely take a breath in, but I exhale like an engine blowing steam, a huff of air passing through my lips and nose. Another breath in, a little deeper, another breath out. My heart is still pounding a million miles an hour. “It hurts.” 

“Keep breathing.” 

Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, and finally like a seal being broken, my next breath in is a great, deep gasp, filling my lungs to capacity before exhaling once again. A few more deep, gulping breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. I get slammed with relief like a burst of cold water, making me feel like I’m five drinks in to a good bottle of whiskey. Drowsy. Tired.

The ground is pulled out from under me like a rug, a curtain of black closing before my eyes for only a moment. I can’t say for sure if it was the sudden rush of oxygen to my brain, my body shutting down to redirect energy to vital organs, the trauma of having my fucking leg blown up, or a combination of all of the above, but apparently I passed out. Not sure for how long, but when I come to, Jack grips my arms, keeping me upright.

He pulls me up, says something else. I try to take a step, and it feels like I’m floating forward, but my legs aren’t moving. They’re there, just in front of me, slung over the crook of Jack’s elbow. 

Oh. 

The last thing that passes through my mind is the smell of something familiar. There’s an overlayer of tobacco, but something else underneath it. Something smoky, like good scotch.

It’s nice. 

 

Darkness. Black. Nothing. There’s not even a sound or sensation that stirs me to consciousness. My eyelids just slowly open, and I’m staring at an unfamiliar metal ceiling in an unfamiliar bed. 

It only takes a few seconds to remember where I’d been, and more specifically, how I got here. My body still feels heavy. Tired. Pushing up from the bed, I’m surprised to find that there’s no jolt of pain from my leg. Does that mean - ? In a brief panic, I whip aside the sheets and - oh, thank god.  _ Not  _ amputated. Bandaged really well though. 

Looking around, I recognize the other side of Church’s clinic. The area past the front room, where I’d had my eye stitches removed. There’s a couple other people in the beds beside me, one of them clutching their stomach and groaning, the other lying completely still with bandages over his face. Yikes. 

My backpack and boots are on the floor beside me, but something is missing... Fuck! My rifle! Shit, did Jack leave it behind? Or take it to sell? Motherfuck, if he did anything of the sort I’m going to be really pissed off.

Speaking of which... “Jack?” 

There’s the sound of chair legs scratching a wood floor, followed by footsteps, but it’s only the doc. 

“So, you’re awake. Finally. How d’ya feel?” 

“Uh..” I pause to go through a mental checklist. Head, fine. Vision, good. Airways, clear. Chest, a little sore, but heart and lungs feel normal. No nausea or abdominal pain or discomfort. “Fine. I think.”

“Great, then you can be on your way. Go sleep in your own bed, this ain’t a hotel.” 

Ah, nothing like the dulcet comforts of Doc’s bedside care. I get my boots tied on, and as I’m about to stand he comes over with a metal cane, bits of it smoldered together where repairs had to be made. “Don’t go puttin’ weight on that leg for a few days, there’s fresh stitches in there an’ I ain’t made of suture thread, got it?” He hands me the cane and shuffles back to the front room before I’m even upright. 

Fuck, stitches? How many? How many supplies did he use? How long have I been here? Shit, this is going to be expensive. I don’t really feel like I need the cane, but I can’t feel much in that leg to begin with. When whatever he gave me wears off, I’ll want to be sure I didn’t overestimate my condition. 

Damn, my boots are ruined. Well, the one is, anyway. The left is fine, but the right looks like it got chewed on by a yao guai.  _ Sigh _ . New boots. New pants. New shirt. I’m starting to regret telling Jack he could keep as many mines as I did. Shifting weight and making a conscious effort not to use the leg, I make it to the front desk. “What do I owe?” 

Without looking up from his current paperwork, he says shortly, “Nothin’.”

“...What?” 

He rolls not just his eyes, but his whole head with annoyance. “It’s been paid for! You’re taken care of, g’on.” He waves me towards the door, but I just stare for a minute. Paid for...? 

...Shit. If he traded my rifle for all that, I can’t exactly be pissed. 

 

Making the hike back up to Moira’s is enough of a challenge with the cane alone. Add in my backpack, plus the added weight of the four mines I managed to pick up, and the entire thing is just a cluster fuck. 

When I finally make it to her door, I have to stop to catch my breath. The pain is already starting to work its way back into my calf, not to mention my side where that assholes fuckin’ pistol got me. I’d forgotten about that part until I made it halfway up the ramp over the clinic.

Moira’s engaged with another customer when I enter, but flashes me a quick smile in greeting. I shuffle over to the pink chair by the doorway to the stairs, which is starting to become something of a regular waiting spot for me. It’s nice to get the weight off both my legs, in any case.

They haggle for a minute over the price of some chems and water, and in the end, he slams his caps on the counter and storms out in an angry huff. Moira, as usual, is completely unphased. 

After putting away her money, her eyes fall over me and widen slightly when she takes in the cane. “I know,” I say before she has a chance to, “I can’t fuckin walk out of this place without coming back with another piece of me missing.” It doesn’t take any prompting this time for me to recount the day to her. 

As expected, she’s more interested in the sniper than anything else. Where he was camped out, why, what kind of setup he had. All questions I expect, so I’m able to answer a few at once if I paint the picture right. 

“How many mines were you able to get?”

“Four, but I can only keep the one. I promised the others to my uh...partner.” If that’s even what I should have called him. Employee? Body guard? I pull one from my pack and hand it to her. 

“Excellent!” She beams. “You can use the workbench I have here, and if you need anything else, just let me know!”

I shuffle over to it, past the counter where I usually conduct my business. She just invited me, but it still feels kind of like I’m trespassing. I drop my pack on the floor and she sets the mine down and heads back to the front as someone else comes in. 

Getting to know the workbench, I examine every part of it in a clockwise, top-to-bottom scan. Her organization is exquisite. Might not look like it to just anyone, but there’s a method to the apparent madness of how things are grouped, even if they’re aside in a pile or seemingly mismatched. 

For now, I’m only trying to get the damned thing open. Pulling the book Moira gave me from my bag, I flip through it back and forth until I find a moderately helpful diagram. It covers pressure-sensitive mines used back before the Great War, but turning the current mine over in my hands shows that the outer casing hasn’t changed much, even if the technology has.

I spend most of the day just reading, turning the mine over, back over again, and reading more. Dusk breaks, I hobble to the common house, and in the morning I come back to do the same thing all over again. As each day passes, another layer of the mine sheds as I become more familiar with its function and layout. 

Some afternoon, I’m so focused that I don’t hear any of the patrons as they come and go, and there’s a sense of familiarity here. Sitting at a desk with a delicate task to accomplish, toning out the sounds of conversation and business around me. It’s almost like it was fixing pip-boys in the vault, and the homesickness I’ve been forcing further and further down comes bursting to the surface like a gyser. 

My working hands slow as my brain fades into reverie. I remember chatting with Amata over lunch. Even though she’d do most of the talking, I liked listening to her. She was so vibrant and expressive. I remember Paul, coming in to see me with any excuse he could muster, and spend a few minutes trying to recall in exact detail what it felt like to have his hands in mine. I remember the few, infrequent dinners between Dad, Jonas and I. Actual family dinners, around the small wooden table in our apartment, where we would talk and laugh. 

I want to go home.  

“Blake?” 

Moira appears beside me, startling me so bad I nearly drop what’s left of the mine onto the workbench. Only now I realize I’d been staring into space for the past however many minutes. “Jesus, Moira! Not exactly a wise thing, surprising someone with a fuckin explosive in their hands!” 

“Oh, not to worry! I knew you had it under control. I’ve got something for yooou!” She says with a threatening shiver in her voice. “You’re gonna  _ love _ this.” She sets something down in front of me that looks like a rounded metal football on a pedestal. 

“Uh...What is it?” 

“It’s a  _ mini-nuke _ , silly!” 

It takes a few seconds for that to register in my mind. “Oh shit!” In my excitement I leap to my feet, immediately regretting it and swearing loudly as I fall back on the stool. The pain in my calf shoots all the way up to my hip, and I rub my thigh to try and dissuade it. “I didn’t know they still had these...” Mini nuke launchers, a.k.a Fat Man, were mentioned only a handful of times by our history books. Once was enough, though, to pique my particular curiosity and further reading. I’d just assumed they’d been destroyed in the Great War. Like usual, my assumptions are proven completely incorrect. 

“Yup! Guy traded this for a shotgun and full set of leathers. Not easy to come by.”

“I should fucking hope not.” Staring at it, I’m both excited and terrified by the possibilities. Excited to finally get my hands on one, terrified because it means there’s more out there. Excited that this might be the key to disabling the big one once and for all, terrified that one wrong  _ twitch _ is all that’s keeping me from making this crater a little bigger. 

“You’re familiar with them, then?” She beams.

“Uhh..I mean, I’ve  _ read _ about them. But it was mostly just, y’know, history, who invented what and got credit for using it in which battle. Not a lot of schema...tics...Moira!” I leap up again and latch onto her shoulders, partly out of enthusiasm but mostly because  _ fuck that HURT. _

For once she’s as surprised as anyone else is when she jumps in their face. “Schematics! There’s schematics! Walter has some tucked away in his filing cabinets! I saw them when I was - I’ll be right back.” Grabbing my cane and nothing else, I practically skip out the door - if only because I’m trying not to put weight on my leg.

The water plant is  _ sort of _ nearby, but I move with more gusto than I probably should. This could be it. The last piece to the puzzle. With what I’ve learned so far, those blueprints might be all I need. If I can apply whatever information I glean from there to the mini nuke, I should be able to do the same to the big one. 

“Walter!” The door opens when I turn the handle and I push my way in, going straight for the filing cabinets. 

“What in the - ?! Goddamnit!” Walter jumps up when I enter, banging his head on a low hanging pipe. “What in the hell? Who d’you think you are comin’ in here...” 

I tone him out as I shuffle through the drawers. I know it was in the third drawer, but I can’t remember which cabinet. I pour through three of them until “Aha! Need to borrow these Walter, I’ll bring ‘em back! Thanks!” 

“...like y’ain’t never been - Hey! Now wait just a darn--!” 

Sorry Walter, you can ream me out for this later, but I’m on a roll. 

When I get back to Moira’s, my leg’s in a considerable amount of pain, but it’s easier to ignore now.  Hopefully it’s because it’s actually healing and not because I’m so focused on something else. Moira’s dealing with a customer when I get back so I bee-line for the workbench, but she tells the guy she’s closing and rushes him out the door, joining me immediately after.

I spread out the schematics and my heart drops. It’s all in chinese. Fuck. 

“I don’t suppose you can read that, can you?” She asks hopefully.

“No...but maybe...where’s that book you lent me?” 

She pulls it from a shelf underneath, and I flip back and forth until I find the pages I’m looking for. A single chapter dedicated to the two different types of atomic bombs - gun or implosion type - and a single diagram from each. Cross referencing the labels, lines and shapes to the one in the schematics, it looks like we’re dealing with implosion types. 

That’s the second stroke of luck we’ve had today. Rather than having to identify and dismantle a gargantuan gunpowder trigger mechanism, all I need to do is open the casing through the access panels, get past the wiring into the pit system to remove the neutron initiator, and then disconnect the plutonium core.

Easy. 

At least, easy now that the neutron initiator has degraded to the point of uselessness. What should have happened when it was launched centuries ago, was the shockwave was supposed to shake loose the initiator which would cause it to impact with the plutonium core, causing it to reach critical mass and  _ boom _ . 

Except, for whatever reason, that didn’t happen, so the initiator degraded and is no longer dense enough to trigger an explosion. Which is all well and good, but if someone with, say, a lot of money, power, and resources was able to reconstruct an initiator, it could be replaced and rearmed. 

“So once I remove the plutonium core...” 

 

...

 

“...We’re done!” I attempt to hold the blocky core up like a trophy, but it’s bigger than my head and heavier than an old car battery. Some of the crowd around me claps, but from the looks on their faces I’m not sure they know exactly what’s going on. 

“Well I’ll be a molerats uncle.” Lucas Simms himself came to witness the deactivation at the town center, and reaches up to take the core from me. I clamber down off the end of the now dead bomb, groaning a little when my bad leg hits the ground, and watch Simms turn the core side to side as he looks it over. “So what do we do with this thing?”

“Well,” I say with a huff, breathing out all the air I’d been holding in with anxiety while I was pulling it loose. “If you really want, you can keep it as a trophy. But even degraded, you could probably use it to power the city. I’m sure Walter’d appreciate the upgrade to his plant.” I say with a laugh, but Lucas gives me a stern sort of look. 

“You pullin’ my leg?” He nearly snarls, and I’m caught so off guard by it I actually take a step back. 

“N-no...? There’s probably enough plutonium left in there to power the whole city for another decade or so. Y’just have to figure out how to adapt it to the reactor.” 

He looks at me, looks at the core, back at me, and sets it on the ground next to his feet. “Well, that’s another job for another day. For now, Blake, you’ve done a fine job, damn fine.” He gives my hand a hearty shake, one that goes all the way up to my shoulder. “Follow me back to my office and we’ll get your reward settled.” 

 

“A  _ house _ ?!” 

“Certainly. On the upper rim, no less.” Says the sheriff, totally casual. I sit in the chair opposite him, dumbstruck, ignoring the stupid smile on Susan’s face. “I imagine you had to do a fair bit of..homework, to get this taken care of?” 

I flush a little. “Err, a little, but -”

“Then you should have a solid understanding of how much hell you just saved us from. From that one job, you’ve done more for this city than most who have lived here their whole lives. That kind of action doesn’t go unrewarded, as far as I can help it. So, here’s your key, and a few caps to help you get started.” From a drawer he produces a solid, old-fashioned looking key. The kind with actual ridges as opposed to a card with a strip. Next to that, he sets down a hefty bag of caps that makes my eyes widen. 

“A  _ few _ ?” 

Simms smiles, something I don’t see often, and leans back in his chair. “Susan will show you were the house is whenever you’re ready.” 

There’s barely enough room in my backpack to stuff the big bag of caps. If I wasn’t still using the cane, I’d opt to carry it in my arms just for the sake of how it feels. But alas, I sling my pack over my shoulders and limp along behind Susan. I can put a little weight on the leg now, so I imagine in another few days I can go without the cane. 

For a while we walk along the metal wall of the city, passing the main gate and going for another few meters. From there we divert up a ramp that takes us to a landing, doubling as the roof to the building below us, around a balcony and arrive at a front door. Susan waits for a moment, and with a small start I realize I’m up.

I insert the key, which had been clutched in my hand the entirety of the walk, and twist open the knob. Susan hangs back to let me take my first few steps across my new threshold. 

What a bewildering, overwhelming feeling. It’s so bare, only a few chunks of neglected furniture spattering the otherwise empty, open rooms. A single wooden table in the middle of the first room, and some counters beyond that. To the right is a staircase that leads to a second story, some of the doors I can spot through the metal handrails. 

“Woah...” I whisper, suddenly feeling a little...I don’t know. Light headed, weak. I walk further in, dropping my bag on the ground and gaping up at the high ceiling and rafters like a small child. Beams of sunlight pour through holes or gaps in the walls where the metal has rusted away, making the whole building seem like some kind of eerie temple.

“Needs a little work.” Susan says, stepping in behind me. “Couple patches, dusting off, a little TLC and it’ll be home sweet home. Any furniture or the like that you need, just let Moira know, she’ll get you squared away.” 

I intend to nod, or say thank you, or do anything at all to make some kind of acknowledgment, but I just keep staring. I keep pouring over every seam of the walls, every crack in the wooden floors, every inch of dust across the room. Home sweet home, huh? I thought I had that once. I guess some part of me expected that if I had it again, it would be because I went back. Every day I am forced further down this rabbit hole, reminded ever forcibly that there is no going back, just forward. 

“Uh, Blake?” Hearing my name snaps me out of...whatever that was, and I turn towards Susan. She raises an eyebrow expectantly. “You alright?” 

“Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I just...this is, hah, um...a little overwhelming, is all.” She smiles encouragingly. 

“I’ll get out of your way then. And...” She pauses after she turns, glancing over her shoulder but not looking at me directly. “Thank you. Really.” 

The depth of the sincerity in her voice surprises me almost as much as the house. “I...yeah, of course...glad to.” She nods and leaves me in the silence of my own, empty home. 

I’m not sure just how long I sit at the table. The walls seem to expand over time, growing further away and higher up, wrapping me up in my own personal abyss. Oddly, I don’t even know what to do now. I’d gotten so used to planning around the communal rush hours for food and hygiene, I don’t really know how to handle the concept of  _ free-time _ . 

In the vault, we had entire days dedicated specifically to down time. What did I even used to do then? Anymore, there’s always one thing or another that needs done. Restock on supplies, washing or repair of clothes, maintenance of my pistol or my pip-boy, some injury that needs tended to or a job to finish. All my life, things like that had been split over a community of people, but now I’m on my own for all of it. 

I slide off the table and slowly make my way upstairs, making heavy use of the handrail as my leg actively protests. There’s definitely a sense of nostalgia, but I’m not really as forlorn as I’d expected to be after the initial shock. If anything, I’m actually a little excited. I don’t have to rush through dinner to make it to the showers, or rush from there to get a bed in the common house. I don’t have to worry about running out of hot water or breaking my back on that fucking couch. I don’t have to limit the entirety of my possessions to what I can carry on my back. I can stock up on food and items. I can buy  _ new clothes _ . There’s even a  _ tub _ ! 

This is going to make my life  _ so _ much easier! Well, maybe ‘easy’ is the wrong word. The place is definitely going to need some - how did Susan put it? TLC, undoubtedly. But even so, it’s going to make at least some aspects of my day-to-day slightly less agonizing, and that’s something to celebrate. 

For now, I stash the bag-o-caps Simms gave me underneath the bed frame, pick up my backpack again, and head down to the Brass Lantern. I’ve got my own business to take care of, too.

Walking down the hill towards the bar, I feel the Pavlovian sense of panic that I’m missing my window of opportunity for a hot shower, that I won’t get a bed tonight at this rate. Realizing I don’t have to worry about that anymore, that I’m no longer on a restricted timeframe, makes my steps a little lighter. 

It’s been a little over a week since I got back from the minefield. I don’t know if Jack is going to be there. But even if not, I can still take my time with a nice big steak dinner, as many drinks as I want, and a leisurely stroll back to my house  _ whenever I want _ . That’s a nice thought, “whenever I want”.

The place feels more crowded than usual, or is it just me? At first I don’t think I see him, but doing a double take, I spot him in one of the darker corners away from the door, smoking a cigarette over a glass of whiskey, my rifle propped up against his stool. Thank God.

I sit down next to him, and for a split second, he looks at me like he’s seeing a ghost. But just as soon, he turns away and barely acknowledges me. “I’ve got your payment. The mines and some caps. Plus whatever I owe for the doctor’s bill.” I smile, but he sighs. Not a good sign.

“Blake...” Oh no.  _ That  _ tone of voice, the one that always comes before bad news and worse changes. I hate that tone. And I really hate hearing it from him. “You can be a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?” 

My heart flips. He turns to me when I don’t say anything. I don’t even know what to say. He says it in such a casual, nonchalant way that I’m completely blindsided. If he had shouted then maybe my defenses would have kicked in, but I don’t know what to do with this. All I can muster to say is “What?” 

“You nearly fuckin’ killed yourself. Do you realize that? You actually almost died. It’s one thing when a fuckin bear comes out of nowhere, and another when you go runnin’ off on a blown up fuckin’ leg.”

“Yeah, well...that’s why I brought you along.” I force some humor, hoping to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work.

“You can’t -” he shakes his head, pausing to form his words. “You can’t rely on other people, Blake. If I hadn’t been there, if I couldn’t get to you, if any number of things had happened,  _ both  _ of your bodies would be there for the next asshole to find.” 

There it is. A fiery stir in my chest. Something angry and defiant. “I had to do  _ something _ ! I wasn’t just gonna sit there, he tried to fuckin’ kill me! What else was I gonna - ?!” 

“Let me help you!” He snaps. I hadn’t realized I’d been raising my voice. “Tell me where he is, give me some fuckin’ direction. I know you got this hero complex or whatever, and some big mission that no one else understands, and I get that, okay? I heard you, loud and clear, help or stay out of the way. But if you’re gonna ask for help, Blake, then  _ let me help _ .” 

For some reason, that hits me like a ton of bricks. Surprised, vulnerable, no longer able to sustain eye-contact, I divert my attention and stare into the empty bit of counter in front of me. I hadn’t expected that. I thought it was just another lecture, I was prepared to have the same argument we’ve had a dozen times by now. I wasn’t expecting he would be  _ worried _ . The fire in my chest dies a little. I hadn’t expected  _ anyone _ to care about me enough to actually worry. I don’t know what to do with that.

I know he’s right. I know it was stupid, dangerous, reckless. Any number of things. And I don’t really understand why, either. Am I tempting fate? Have I given up already, and just throwing myself to the mercy of the universe? Or has following my instincts paid off well enough that I’m starting to trust them too much?

I don’t know. I have no idea why. I only know one thing. “I don’t regret it.” This time, he doesn’t say anything. “Not in the least. Even with what it cost me, I’m  _ glad  _ I got that fucker, and I’d do it again.” My hand curls into a fist on the countertop, relishing in the memory of my knife plunging into his neck, how warm his blood was when it washed over my skin, and the look of terror in his eyes before he died. “Every time.” 

Shit, that was... _ dark _ . I release my invisible grip, shake my head like shooing a nasty thought and signal for Leo, who brings me my own glass.  “But...anyway, thanks for dragging my dumb ass back here. And for getting the bill.” I glance sideways, hesitant to look him full in the face until I see him grinning. 

“Shit, I ain’t that rich. I gave the doc most of the med supplies you had in your pack.”

Oh, god. Of course. Fucking duh. He barely knows me, of course he wouldn’t just drop a small fortune for some dumb broad. My cheeks turn pink, and I’m suddenly wishing I were facing down another super mutant rather than this burning embarrassment. 

“But not the rifle, huh?” I ask trepidatiously. He glances at me and I break eye contact, hoping not to be too transparent. After all he’s done, I don’t feel like I can actually ask for it. But, leaning down, he passes it over to me anyway, swinging it around and resting it against my stool instead. I smile. “I was startin to think you were gonna keep it for yourself.” 

He takes a drink. “Nah. You earned that one. But,” he continues with a wider grin. “Don’t get any ideas. You die out there, you’re S.O.L.”

Oh thank god, a change in topic. “Gee, what stirring loyalty.”

“Hey, don’t get yerself blown up, won’t have to worry about it.”

“Alright, alright, I hear you. But...” I grasp for something else to say, keep conversation going. “At least you got some mines out of it, as well as a heap of caps. Plus, most importantly, my unfettered gratitude.” I flutter my eyelashes at him and he shakes his head. 

“What the hell good is that?” He jibes.

“Y’never know. Might come in handy down the road.” 

“Right. If I ever need a kamikaze diversion, I’ll look you up.” Damn. Don’t have a comeback for that one. As usual, we fall into a silent, liquored lull. Until he speaks up again. “You really disable that bomb?” 

I flush a little. Didn’t think he’d have heard about that so soon. “Word gets around fast, huh?” I try to deflect having to answer directly. 

“When shit goes down at the most densely populated, dead-center of the city, yeah, it does a bit.” I shrug. He shakes his head again, smirking wryly. “Ain’t enough to go runnin’ into the line of fire, y’gotta go an put a big ol’ target on your back, too. Y’got balls, I’ll give ya that. Hope y’at least got somethin good for it.” 

I toss back the last swill of my drink and tap the counter for a refill. The light-headed sensation doesn’t fill me as strongly as before - I guess finally learning to hold my liquor. “Gave me a house. I’d say that’s pretty good.” 

He pauses for a beat. “A  _ house _ ? You got a house?” His voice drops suddenly, lower than it’s ever been talking about caps and payments and rewards. His sudden secrecy makes me nervous. 

“Yeah, on the -” He shoots me a look, more like a gesture, that’s easy to read. I scoot a little closer, looking over my shoulder at anyone who might be trying to listen in. “On the upper ring, by the wall.” Turning back to face him, I - woah. Uh. I didn’t think we were this close. That smell, the smell from his shirt when I messed up my eye, when he carried me the last few yards to Megaton,  _ his _ smell makes me dizzier than the alcohol does. 

If he didn’t lean back, I’m not sure what I’d have done. But he does, leans back and whistles. “Damn. That’s nothin’ t’sneeze at.”

I focus intently on my drink, chin down, eyes down, hoping his poor eyesight and the dim lighting don’t betray the color in my cheeks. “Y-yeah, I...Guess not. Where do you stay, anyway?” I blurt without thinking, intending to keep him talking and distracted more than anything. 

“S’a place...not too far from here, got rooms for cheap.” 

“You don’t stay at Moriarty’s?” 

“ _ Fuck _ no. Even if I had a lick’ve respect for the guy, he charges half a day’s fuckin’ pay for a goddamn meal. Nah, place I go to ain’t exactly five stars, but I don’t gotta compete with half’ve the fuckin’ city for a bed or go broke in a single night to get one.” 

“That seems to be a recurring theme out here. Swapping, uh,  _ quality _ for ease of access.”

He snorts, lifting his glass. “Kid, you ain’t seen nothin yet. Speakin’ of which -” He downs the last of his drink and stands from the stool. “I oughta get goin’. There’s not a high demand, but enough’ve one. See y’around.” 

Not wanting him to leave yet, I get the idea of hiring him again, this time to help me fix up my house. Just as soon as it comes, though, I’m not sure it’s such a - “Hey, uh...” Shit. I didn’t mean to say anything. Usually I think about what I’m going to say before it starts coming out of my mouth. Shit. Okay, maybe my tolerance still needs work. 

In the next split second, I consider making the offer anyway. Seeing him tomorrow, alone, working together, privately, watching him lift heavy things, sweating in his undershirt, catching his breath in the sunligh-- _ NOPE. No no no, abort, abort! _ “Don’t forget your mines!” ...Nice save, Blake. 

He smirks. “Why don’t you hold on to ‘em for now, since you got the space. I’ll pick ‘em up from you before I head back to Arefu. Where uh...?”

“Along the southwest wall, a few meters from the gate.” 

He nods, waving two fingers in a faux salute as he makes his exit. I finish my drink in two swallows and immediately ask for another. 

 

When I leave, it takes me a few solid minutes to realize I’m going the wrong way. Tired and inebriated, my auto-pilot had carried me halfway to the common house before I remembered I actually have my own bed. 

Making an about face, I head back up the hill towards the main gate and get a glimpse of Lower-Megaton nightlife I’ve yet to see until now. Between stretches of buildings are lumps of shadows, huddled up in crevices with collections of blankets and clothes. Scantily clad men and women coo and catcall, trying to solicit their services. Some of them are already servicing clients in darkened alleyways. 

Some people try to sell me chems, others ask if I have any to buy. I hear whispers, dry laughter, shouts, people talking to themselves or to trash cans, coughs and wheezes, breaking bottles, weeping. Those that come too close are scared away easily enough by a flash of my pistol - I’m drunk, not fuckin’ stupid.

I pass by one section of wall that bares a windowless metal door, above which a barely functioning sign flashes “Hotel” with some raider looking motherfucker lurking nearby. That’s not where Jack’s staying, is it?

As I enter the middle tier, there’s a noticeable lack of ominence. Still a spattering of prostitutes and chemheads, but with less frequency. I don’t have to put a hand on my pistol once. The buildings have a stronger integrity, the pathways are better lit. The top tier has even a greater difference. Those I pass by in the street nod in greeting, or say nothing at all. It’s quieter, brighter. Safer. 

It dawns on me just how lucky I am that, even out in the wastes, I somehow manage to grab a hold of what little security there is to be had. Guess the universe felt like it owed me one. I’d say it’s still due some, but I’m not about to challenge fate. 

When I first walked in the house, the sun was out and peeking through the holes and cracks. Now that it’s dark, I flick on the lightswitch. It takes a few seconds, but the bulbs along the walls flicker and fill every inch of the room with a yellow light. It’s softer than what I expected. Despite seeing them in every building across the wastes, I still associate ‘home’ with the bright white of LED’s that we had in the vault. Somehow, I like this better. Not as hard on the eyes. Gives it something of a...well, I suppose it would be a ‘homey’ feel. 

Our apartment was, like everything else in the vault, a regulation, general design living quarters, inhabited by who knows how many generations before us. The size of the rooms, the layout, hell, even where the furniture went was all pre-decided by some guy in an office chair centuries ago. There’s no...personality to them. No sense of belonging. 

But this place was built, not to outlast the world, but as a part of it. Its walls brace against its neighbors, its floors spread over whatever bit of ground they could conquer. It does not wait for the world to make room for it, but firmly plants itself and declares, “this space is  _ mine _ ”. 

...Wow, I am  _ drunk _ . Here I am getting all philosophical and waxing poetic about a  _ house _ . I had really looked forward to coming home and taking as long of a shower as I wanted before passing out in my own bed, but as I stand in my nearly empty foyer, exhaustion hits me like a brick. I chug down a bottle of water, hit the mattress and I’m out like a light. 

 

I’m urged into consciousness by my throbbing head the next morning. Before my eyes open, my mind takes off with the morning schedule and carries me through the fastest route to the showers. But I ignore it, lying on the mattress and smiling to myself despite my headache. 

I’ll have to see what I can do about getting some blankets, but the satisfaction of letting myself lay in bed with no repercussions is more relaxing than anything else I’ve experienced in a long while. I didn’t even have to keep my pants on! Yeah, I can see this working out pretty well for me in a few ways. 

I savor the luxury, only getting up when I absolutely feel ready. Slowly swing my legs over the side, allowing myself to yawn, stretch from side to side, and work up another burst of energy to stand. Going downstairs, I realize I still have to get to a restaurant for breakfast. Food, that’s something else I’ll have to buy. I gotta write this all down. 

Even my leg is feeling well enough that I forego the cane. I kind of regret it by the time I get to the bottom of the stairs, but it’s more a dull ache instead of the agonizing pain that it used to be. The muscles have probably atrophied quite a bit, it’s still gonna take some sweat and tears to get back to full functionality. But progress is progress, right?

The walk to and from breakfast takes enough out of me that I have to sit at the table for a little while before I feel up to tackling the stairs again. Once up there, taking more advantage of my luck, I opt for the single luxury that I was not afforded in the vault; A  _ bath _ . 

In both my excitement and lack of experience, I use too much hot water and have to wait for it to cool down so I can actually get in without scalding myself. And once I do, oh my  _ god _ . It’s the single best moment of my entire life. Specifically that one moment, before I remember everything that happened to get me to this point. That next moment kind of sucked a bit, but the one before that, man, that was fantastic. 

I don't enjoy it for too long, the water gets pretty murky pretty quickly. Maybe I should have showered first. Oh well, now I know for next time. For now, though, I've got some errands to run. 

 

Getting everything on my shopping list isn't as easy as just stopping by Moira’s. Most of what I need I can get from her, like abraxo, detergent, and some new clothes -  including a nice padded trench coat. After restocking on ammo and med supplies, I have to knock out the rest of my list elsewhere. 

Meat from one shop, produce from another, and the better smelling shampoo Moira uses, she actually bought from another shop up on the top tier. Then it's back down to the middle rung to get the rest. Bits and pieces for the house, including nuts and bolts, fasteners, screws, nails, and any tools that look like they might be useful - never underestimate the vitality of a good hammer. Sheets and blankets for bedding have to be “special ordered”, apparently, through the caravans that come through from somewhere called Rivet City, so I'm going to have to wait on those for about a week or so. 

My last stop is at the water plant to buy some scrap metal from Walter. I need quite a bit, but he gives me a good deal and even let's me use his welding gun as long as I promise to bring it back. He also threatens to turn off my water completely if I don't, so at least I know he's not going soft on me. 

 

My leg is fucking killing me. It's been aching all day, but trying to ignore it might not have been the smartest thing. I gain a heavy limp the entire walk back home, and for the first half hour sitting on the bed, I consider never walking again. I relish in the fantasy, then force myself back to my feet. No rest for the wicked. 

I can't go two seconds without thinking of some other thing I should have bought. I got food, but no plates. Running water, but only my canteen. Still a ways to go before I really make it ‘home’, I guess. 

I spend the rest of the day cleaning up the inside as much as I can. Wash the floor, wipe down surfaces with bleach, tighten the fastenings on the railings up the stairs. 

When I go to fill the tub with hot water and half a box of Abraxo, I catch myself in the surprisingly well preserved mirror. A shot of ice goes through my chest. I'd almost actually forgotten about that fucking bear attack. The scars healed up as much as they’re gonna, which isn't much. It still makes me look... Mangled. Grotesque. Like trying to glue back together your favorite cup -  it at least holds together, but you'll forever see the cracks over what it used to be. 

Think I might take that mirror down tomorrow. 

Get through the rest of the day alright. But that, plus my leg, another reminder of my ineptitude, damper my mood a bit. 

I try not to think about how I'm probably going to be living with some kind of pain in my leg for the next... Well, long time. Somewhere in my mind, I know it's true, but it's a thought that's easier for me to ignore just now. Just pretend like it's still fresh. Still healing. That things can get better. 

Seems like a frequent grasp for comfort these days. That things can get better. 

The sun's down, my stomach is growling, and now I'm depressed. Time for a drink. Jacks not there, but I'm almost glad he's not. There's something that's oddly satisfying about wallowing in your own misery. Masochistic, but there it is. I have a steak, drink it's weight in whiskey, and head back home. Don't bother with a bath. I'd just have to face myself again, literally, and the whiskey’s got me buzzing enough that I think I can actually get to sleep tonight. 

 

The next morning, however, I haven't got a choice to avoid the bathroom for long. I opt for throwing one of my older, nastier t-shirts over the mirror and get about my day, which includes draining the tub from yesterday. It's a significantly noticeable difference. Like, five or six shades, noticeable. I’m hoping at least some of the grime was leftover from the bath I took the other day.

Now, for the real work. And the real work includes a ladder. 

Fuck. 

Takes about fifteen minutes to motivate myself enough to stand. Hauling a ladder back from wherever I can get one doesn’t sound like a picnic, but if I can’t even do that, I might as well give up on ever reaching DC. 

My leg is  _ screaming _ by the time I get back to the house. I’m sure I could’ve gotten a ladder somewhere closer than Moira’s, but if I’m being honest, she’s the only one I know and trust enough to ask. In either case, it’s done, and I dragged her fucking seven foot ladder all the way back. Tempting to take a break, but I just clench my teeth and carry on. 

Starting on the southmost wall, I immediately realize this is going to be a bigger job than a couple quick patches. Despite the holes, some of the metal paneling is missing rivets or rusting away, so that that the whole thing is coming loose. Great. Lugging the few chunks of scrap metal back  _ down  _ the ladder, I stuff some hardware into my pockets and grab some tools. It dawns on me that I should’ve tried to find something of a tool belt. Instead, I stick whatever I can through the empty belt loops of my jeans. 

Three hours, a lot of hammering, more swearing and a few more near-death experiences as I get closer to the edge of the balcony, and I’m done with the top half of the first wall. Woohoo. After a brief lunch of some home-made kebabs, it’s back to the grind and I start on the next wall, my back to the main thoroughfare leading from the city’s gate. 

Surprisingly, to me at least, this wall’s in better condition than the last. Only a couple panels need reattached, and the rest is just patch work. Should only take me a couple hours to do the whole wall. By then it might behoove me to just take an early dinner and call it a day before it gets too dark. Seems like it’s been getting darker earlier these days, but could just seem that way cause’ve how busy I’ve been. 

After soldering a particularly large and rusty gap, I lean back to admire my work and simultaneously massage the thigh of my bad leg. Ignoring it did the trick, I think I’m kind of getting used to the pain now. 

“Now, that’s not half bad.“ 

I jump, nearly falling off the ladder for the fourth time today. “Jack...? So, finally decided to show, huh?” I jibe at him in an attempt to cover how excited I am that he’s here. 

“I’s curious to see how far you’d get on that bum leg.” He tilts his head, puffs on his cigarette, then nods. “Not bad.” 

I puff out my chest. “Course it’s not! I’m a big girl now, can tie my shoes and kill raiders and everything.” He snorts and shakes his head at me. Y’know, it’s rare, but he’s got a nice smile. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking up at me. I flush a little. “So, since you're here, wanna make yourself useful?” 

“I’m supervising.” I chuck an old, rusted rivet at his head, which veers off to the side and clatters on the metal platform. “What, you got another ladder laying around I can use?” 

“Nope. You can use this one.” I clamber down to the ground and present him with the hammer I’d been using to flatten out the last stubborn piece of scrap metal. “You can get the ones higher up, and I’ll stay on the ground level. Y’know how t’use one’ve these, right?” 

The hammer reflects in his sunglasses as he looks it over, taking it from my hand. “The big heavy end goes in the other guy, right?” 

“Something like that, yeah.”

 

He picks up where I left off up top. Turns out he knows not only how to use a hammer, but the soldering iron as well. Makes me realize how little I actually know about him, and how curious I am to find out. But getting him to talk about his glasses alone was harder than pulling teeth, so I expect I’ll have to work for some of it. 

While he keeps working on the ladder, I go back to the first wall from this morning and start fixing up along the bottom. In arm’s reach, it’s a little worse for wear, where people have been picking away at it for their own supplies. Can’t really blame them, though, resources being what they are. 

We have to keep swapping the soldering iron and goggles, but we find a good rhythm pretty quickly. While I’m using it, he can hammer in a few rivets, and while he’s using it, I get to lay off my leg for a few minutes. I try to deny myself the first couple times, but eventually there’s no point in pretending I’m not hoping he’ll eventually take off his shirt. Manual labor, direct sunlight, almost no breeze, but he’s apparently a fucking lizard person as his t-shirt remains firmly in place. Alas. Though once or twice I think I catch him looking at me first - but with those fucking sunglasses I can never actually tell.

A bit over an hour later, I’m finished with my side and he’s got one more panel to go. With no more work to do, no excuses and no shame for it, I just watch him work. Admire the muscles in his arms as he holds a sheet of metal in place, the definition in his hands, or the curve of his back as he sits atop the ladder. Letting my mind run away with my libido, I’m not really paying attention when he hands the iron back down to me. I really hope his vision is bad enough that he didn’t see me biting my lip. 

“Not bad for a day’s work.” He says, shifting on the top step of the ladder to pull a cigarette pack from his pockets. 

“Hey, thanks! Not bad yourself, for only half an hour’s work.” 

He smiles as he holds up his lighter and inhales. “Hey, done is done.” 

“Can’t argue that. Gonna come in for the last bit of work tomorrow, too, or you actually gonna come early enough to get some real work done?” 

He exhales, pocketing the lighter and tilting his head to examine the size of the house. “I dunno. Whole day of hard work. Might just do me in.” 

“Heh.” Suddenly self-conscious of my...pampered lifestyle until recently, I don’t have a lot to say in retort. “Well, in seriousness, I do appreciate the help.”

“Course.” He says with a billow of smoke. “How’s the leg?” 

Christ, such a simple question for how fucking giddy it makes me. Chill, Blake. “It...hurts. Not as bad as it used to. Better everyday, blah blah. Helps not goin’ up and down a ladder all day.”

He nods with another inhale, holds it for a moment, exhales. “Well, I’ll try to save y’from it tomorrow, too.” 

“Actually, if you are coming back tomorrow, I still have some more errands to run. Things to buy and stock up on. What I could use the most is help carrying stuff back. The delivery charges can be a little...harsh.” 

He nods again. “Can do. Nothing else on the docket for the evening?” 

“Just a hot bath.” I say with a stretch. “A long one. Soak this leg a bit.” 

“Not headin’ to the Lantern later?” 

Am I just delirious, or does he actually sound a little...disappointed? “I uh. Hadn’t planned on it. Was thinkin’ of just resting up for tomorrow.” 

He descends the ladder, flicking his cigarette and smearing it beneath his boot. “Good t’see you bein’ reasonable for once.” 

“Heh. If a radioactive bear, a psycho with a sniper rifle, landmine and some drunk asshole yellin’ at me don’t get the message across, I don’t know that anything will.” He laughs. Not just a chuckle or huff like I’d gotten before. A genuine laugh, and I blush. God, he’s really quite attractive. “Rain check. Tomorrow. I’ll buy, assuming you actually show.” 

“Noted. Take care, Blake.” 

“You too. Thanks, Jack.” Watching him walk away, I wish it were tomorrow already. After the long hot bath I promised myself, I make myself a small dinner, all the while fighting the urge to head down to the Lantern anyway. If my leg didn’t feel like it was in a bear trap, I might actually have done. Instead, it’s an early night. Early to bed, early to rise, right? Or...not.

 

* * *

 

“Bit early for you, in’ it, Jack?” 

“Guess so. Time nor tide.” 

“The fuck’s that supposed’a mean?” 

“Don’t worry about it. Catch y’later, Al.” 

“Bring me back somethin’ nice!”

Ten in the morning is definitely earlier than I typically like to be upright, but I wanna save myself the fuckin’ grief of missin’ work. I head towards the upper ring, her part’ve town, but don’t hear no hammerin’, clangin’ or swearin’ to indicate she’s out and about yet. I loiter by the gate for a while, returning every dirty look any Upper Crust asshole shoots my way. I surely look the part of a lower ring, and that makes em skittish. Good. Too much comfort, these people. Forget what the world outside their nice little shell’s like.

I stand around for a bit less’n half an hour but I don’ see her comin’ or goin’. If she got a head start, she’d be comin’ back this way by now. Wouldn’she? Could be she’s still waitin’ on my ass, so I go an’ knock on her door. 

At first there’s no sound or nothin’, so I’m thinkin’ of just walkin’ off, but then I hear heavy footfalls comin’ down stairs. When she opens the door, I feel a jolt in my chest like I just got skewered. 

I think I must’ve just woken her up. Her hair’s all in a mess to one side, locks of it fallin’ along her neck and shoulders. Looks like her tank top was pulled on in a hurry, too, cause one sleeve’s slidin’ down her arm and there’s definitely nothin’ underneath it. I feel some heat rising into my face as she looks up at me with her droopy, just-woke-up eyes. 

She looks at me all confused, like she don’t recognize me. “You uh...” Fuck, I knew what I was gonna say two seconds ago before I saw her lookin’ like that. “Little winded from yesterday?” 

“What?” She turns her wrist like to check that pip-thing, only it ain’t there. “What time is it?” 

“Bout 10:30 by now.” Her eyes pop a bit.

“Oh shit, really? Damn, I guess it did kick my ass a bit. I, um--” She tucks some hair behind her ear, pullin’ it off her long neck. Followin’ the curve, my eyes go just a little bit lower, and it’s all the willpower I can fuckin’ muster to tear em back to her face when she starts talkin’ again. “--gotta just...get ready real quick. Um..” She steps back a little. “You wanna just wait inside for a minute?” 

I’m workin’ on an excuse not to, but my feet carry me over the threshold like I had no fuckin’ choice in the matter. She runs a finger over the hair that’s still tucked behind her ear, smilin’ a little and closing the door behind me. “Back in a jiff, promise!” 

She takes the stairs two at a time, and if I don’t watch her go, there’s nothin’ else I do pay attention to. For the few minutes she’s gone, I get a better look of the inside of this place. It’s nice.  _ Real _ nice. Could probably fit four of the room I’m sleepin’ in, into the main area alone. Probably gets hot water and all, too. 

She comes runnin’ back down the stairs, boots all laced up but without her wrist computer, and otherwise ready to go, except for her hair which she’s let sprawl over her shoulders and back. “Coffee?” She asks before she even hits the floor, rushing over to the counter on the opposite side of the room. With one hand, she clicks on the hot plate and sets an already-full pot of water on top of it. With the other, she begins collecting the tendrils of hair and sweeping them over one shoulder. Her red hair pulls away like a curtain, revealing her neck and nape, left bare by the scoop of her tank top. 

Tugging her hair back and with a band held in her teeth, she looks at me when I don’t say anything. “Uh, yeah.” I continue to watch her tie up her hair, twisting it with and around her hands, looping it through the band so quickly it’s like a spell. Instead of just pulling it through as a ponytail, she knots it up so it’s bound up and off her neck and shoulders, and I catch myself staring again. Only this time her back is turned, so I allow myself the indulgence of looking over every curve from head to toe. 

When her weight shifts, I redirect my attention just in time before she turns with two steaming cups in hand. “Here, I wanna get an idea of what’s left to do on the outside, so it’ll be a few minutes before we head out.” 

I take the cup and shrug. Not like I’ve got a terribly strict schedule, it doesn’t really matter to me when we leave. I follow her back outside, leaning on the railing and sipping the coffee as she works her way along the side of the house. It’s pretty good, the coffee. Weaker’n I like, but surely a better mix than what we’ve got below - go figure. Few minutes later, she comes back around, and my cups already more’n half empty. She takes a deep drink of her own and sneers a little. 

“Ugh. Okay, ready?”

“Whenever you are.” She sets her cup on a table just beside the door, and I do the same. “Don’t need your pip-thing?” 

She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, just errands and the like today.” Makes sense. It would, though, given I don’t know what the fuck she uses it for anyway. 

Errands go pretty quick. Turns out she wasn’t kiddin’ about havin’ more stuff to pick up. Half the day we’re just hauling shit back and forth from shops to her goddamn house, and not all of it is fuckin’ feathers. To her credit, she takes on much as she can carry instead’ve leavin it all on me. She’s already got some nice definition in her arms, shoulders and back. 

Couple hours into it, she starts limpin’ a bit. Keep’s denyin’ anything’s wrong, says she’s fine, but I can see the pain it’s causin’ ’er. In her leg as she walks, in her face as she tries to ignore it, in her voice tellin’ me she’s fine. It’s hurtin’ her, alright, but she ain’t lettin’ it stop her. Startin’ to wonder what fuckin’ could at this point. 

Come about 3, we stop to get somethin’ to eat before gettin’ back to work on her house, which takes the rest of the afternoon. By the time we’re done and everything’s all put away as she likes it, the sun’s gone down and the nightlife is crawlin’ out from the hole it sleeps in durin’ the day. 

She stands in the doorway, lookin’ around the house and goin’ over some kind of checklist in her mind of things she needed. 

“Well, I think that’ll do me for now. Too late to do any more on the walls, anyway. In which case, I believe I owe you a drink.” We head out, and she locks the door behind us.

“How can you afford all this stuff?” 

She looks surprised for a second, then turns a little pink with embarrassment. “I...guess I just don’t have much else to spend on. Goin’ out into the wastes, doin’ jobs for Moira or whoever, usually I can scavenge most of what I need. Or sometimes Moira gives me extras.” 

Makes a difference when you ain’t payin’ for a roof and bed every night, I guess. 

“What do you do?” She asks. 

“What?”

“For, like...work. Do you scavenge too? How do you afford all that whiskey?” She smirks, and I can’t help but follow suit. 

“Caravan jobs, mostly. Everyone and their grandpa takes a shot at bein’ a body guard, so caravans are willin’ to pay for a someone who knows the proper end of the gun to fuckin’ hold.” 

“Oh. So you actually, like, trek across the wastes with them?”

“Yep.”

“Damn. That sounds...intense.” She falls quiet for a moment as we walk down the main thoroughfare. “Is that where you learned to shoot?” 

Shoot...? 

_ A warm hand rests on my shoulder, the other running down my arm and gripping my wrist gently. “There y’go, hon. Aim, exhale, and -” Her breath falls over my ear and neck as she whispers, “Breeeathe.”  _

“Uh. No. Y’wanna know how t’handle a gun before you go and have other people put their life in your hands.” 

“Right, duh. Dumb question.” She hisses, falling into a heavy limp for a few paces before adjusting and correcting.

“Y’alrigh--”

“M’fine. Just need some booze, I’ll be right as rain.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

We take our usual seats at the bar, in a corner away from the door. S’a little more...private. Moreso when she tugs her stool just a little closer to mine. Leo, knowin’ us well enough by now, sets our glasses before us and she lifts hers in a toast. 

“Cheers.” 

“For?”

“Whaddyou mean, ‘for’? For fuckin’ because, c’mon.” Our glasses clink, are emptied, and slammed back on the countertop for round two. Tonight could prove to be...interesting.

 

“No, honestly!” She says, laughing and holding her fifth...sixth? Drink aloft. “Honestly, everyone had to. When you turned shix-sixteen, y’had ta, t’take this test. An it tol’ you what,  _ everyone _ took it, an it told you what yer job was!” 

“Fuckin...christ.” I can barely stop smiling long enough to finish off my glass. “What’d you get?” 

She swallows her drink, lookin’ all of someone who just got caught with their hand in a till. “....What?” 

“What’d you get? What was yer job’s’posed to be?” Now I ain’t got the best vision, but I know my colors at least and she definitely turns some shade of red. That alone just makes me laugh harder. “Oh, now you  _ gotta _ tell me.” 

“My...my job’as pib-pib-...pip. Boy. Programmer.” She says with a little too much calm.

“...Okay, that was y’r job. What’d’ja get on the test?” 

She fights a smile. Didn’t think I’d catch that, did ya girlie? 

“...Mmrge kslr...” She mumbles.

“What’s that?” 

She sighs, leaning forward to spread a palm over her eyes. “Marriage councilor.” 

For a moment, I don’t dare believe it. But she turns to me like she’s waiting for my reaction, and she’s not disappointed. I guffaw so hard I gotta put down my drink for risk of droppin’ it. 

“Shut the fuck up!” She says, slapping my shoulder. “Fuck you, you’re cut off.” She grabs for my glass, but I grab it first. 

“Ey! Alright, alright. So if that’s what’he test got...how’d y’end up doin’ th’pib-bob thing?” 

“Cause my teach’r knew I wasn’a fuckin’ idiot, an’ if they wan’ed th’vault t’keep runn’n f’r th’next ten years, they’d need me on th’tech.” 

“Ah. So, you cheated.”

“Did fuckin’ not. Took th’test fair n’square.”

“Okay.” 

“Fuck you, mister...sunglasses and...muscles. Scoot over, huh? I barely got any fuckin’ room here.” 

“You got plenty’ve space, girlie, yer just on the edge of yer fuckin’ stool.” 

“Eh?” She looks down, seein’ that to be the case. Only the vertigo kicks in, so she starts leanin’ a little too far and starts slidin’ off. It’s just natural reaction for me to try an’ catch her. And it’s just pure fuckin’ luck my hand catches her right above her hip. For a few seconds she looks up at me in that doe-eyed way she does, and the next thing I know, her lips are on mine.

 

* * *

God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long, and he tastes  _ so goo -  _ Oh fuck! What am I doing?! 

I pull back, quickly as I can and cover my mouth, looking at the floor or at the wall or anywhere  _ but  _ his face. “Sorry! Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just -” But whatever I am, it’s lost when he cups my face and pulls me back into another kiss. Almost without realizing it, my hands are on his face and my weight is falling onto his thigh, which pushes up into me and sends a jolt up through my spine. 

_ Ahem _ . I hear behind us, and suddenly I remember where we are. I break off again, and Jack’s hand grips the back of my neck to pull me back in. “Maybe we should uh...go back to my place.” I glance sideways to imply my meaning, but his gaze - as far as I can tell - doesn’t leave mine. Instead, his hands shift to my hips and he actually lifts me up and sets me down on the ground again. Oh boy. 

The combination of alcohol and his pheromones rush into me so that I actually swoon a little, leaning into his chest before grabbing him by the hand and leading him out of the bar. I’ll worry about the tab tomorrow. 

The walk back to my place feels like a mile, but his hand never leaves mine. A few meters away from the bar, he jerks my arm so I spin and stumble into him, where he wraps an arm tightly around my waist and kisses me again, deeper, more hungrily. I give into him for just a moment, barely remembering we’re still in public. Finally I break away, leading him on at twice the speed. Reaching the door, I’m impeded by the lock I finally installed, swearing a little as I reach in my pocket to dig for the key. 

Suddenly I’m pushed into the door, the entirety of his weight pressing into my back and - oh  _ god _ \- his lips press into my neck, his teeth lightly grazing my skin, and god help me, I let out the lightest, airiest moan. His grip tightens on my hips, and for a second I think he might just take me right here. What’s more, I’m not entirely against the idea.

Fortunately or otherwise, it’s only one key I’m looking for in my one pocket, so I find it easily. No sooner does the door open and he shepherds me inside, not letting an inch between us. Before the door can even click shut, my hands are around his neck, my lips on his, and my knee sliding up his thigh. 

He lifts me straight off the ground and carries me a few paces to the table, whereupon he turns his attention back to my neck. My hands wander into his hair, squeezing and pulling with every nip, lick, suck and bite he inflicts. I feel like I’m getting dizzy, the way he feels, smells, tastes is  _ so good _ . 

I feel his hand play at the hem of my shirt and slide underneath - his hands are warm and rough, and it feels incredible on my skin. Incredible, until he slides underneath the thin fabric of my bra.

Like flicking a switch, alarms are suddenly blaring in my head.  _ ALERT. ALERT. WARNING. CAUTION. ABORT. _

Where I’d been feeling almost delirious with desire half a second ago, I am just as suddenly nauseous and cold. I freeze up completely, and I feel his pace of kisses slow. I retreat my hands, and he pulls away. My heart is fucking pounding. Oh fuck. Fuck. What am I doing?! 

“Blake...?” 

I can’t bare to look at him. I think I might throw up if I do. His hands fall away. “I...I’m sorry...” I choke. 

“Sorry? Why, what - ?” 

“I’m really,  _ really _ sorry...I haven’t...I’ve never...” 

I can’t find the words to say it, but a beat later, he grasps my meaning. “...Oh,  _ fuck _ .” His warmth, his presence drops away completely and my heart lurches. I didn’t want that, either. When I finally look up, his sunglasses are askew as he rubs his eyes, hand on his hip. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m sorry -” My voice cracks as a couple tears disobey orders and slip out. He doesn’t say anything. “I...I want to, I really -” His glasses fall back into place as he holds his hand up, quieting me. 

“Don’t. You don’t have to -  You’re - we  _ both _ had a lot to drink. I shouldn’t have -” 

“No! No, it’s not...I mean, we both did, but I...I really like--” 

He turns towards the door. “Just forget it, Blake, okay? It's alright, just... Forget it.” And without another word, without a chance to say anything else, he leaves. Just like that. I want to follow him out, make him listen to me, make him understand, but I’m frozen to the spot. Embarrassment or shame, or something else, I can’t tell. But I can’t move. I can’t think. I can barely breathe. I just sit there and cry. 

This house feels so cold. 

 

When I finally get to bed, I don’t sleep. Just lay there for some stretch of time, reeling through a flurry of different emotions.

On one hand, I could just die of shame. I’m so embarrassed, and the worst of it is I don’t even understand my  _ own _ actions. I’d wanted it! I’d thought that I wanted it. In the bar, being so close to him, the way he looked, the way his hair felt...going over it in my head starts getting me all riled again, before I catch back up with reality and a tremor of panic starts working its way back up my spine.

What was I thinking?! I don’t even know this guy’s full name, or if he even has one. Does he have a family? A hobby? An STD? Do such a thing as condoms even still exist? Shit, what if I’d gotten pregnant?  _ Pregnant!  _ Christ, that’s a whole  _ gallon _ of worms I don’t even want to think about right now.

Then I move on to indignation. He just fucking left! Just took off without so much as a backward glance. What the hell is that about? I can understand the disappointment to a certain degree, but is that all my company has to offer? There it is again, the uncertainty. I don’t even know him well enough to even guess what he might’ve been thinking or feeling. Was he angry? Embarrassed? 

Man, I really fucked things up. Why’d I even have to kiss him in the first place? I was so drunk. 

_ But, he kissed you back... _ Says my brain, entirely unhelpful. Yeah, he did. So what? He’s a guy. Pretty sure not a one of ‘em out here would turn down an invitation like that. 

_ Remember the way he looked at you...carried you...held you and saved you. Even with a face like that, all mangled and twisted, he kissed you back. Is all that so inconsequential?  _

No...Maybe? I don’t know! I can’t decide if I miss him or hate him. Body language is a worthless fluke of evolution and so are emotions. 

I can’t sleep. There’s no use in it. Think about taking a bath, but I don’t really feel like that, either. Not hungry. Kind of want a drink, but definitely don’t want to deal with any other humans. One more thing to stock up on; alcohol.  

Outside. I just want to be outside. Fresh air is supposed to be worth something, right? I hesitate for just a moment outside the door, and rather than turning left to walk down the path, I veer right and hover at the railing. It’s kind of a nice little balcony, now that I really take the time to enjoy it. 

Good vantage point, too. Hilltop on the Upper Ring gives me a view of the city that’s really...well, as irony would have it, the only word that comes to mind is  _ romantic _ . But not in the modern way. Romantic in a sense of invoking some deep, personal emotion. A sort of freedom from what muddles my mind, a scenery of beauty and simplicity that allows me some momentary respite.

I do love this city.

Even at night, small flicks of light burst from windows and lamp posts to illuminate most of the city. Patches of dark can be seen, seemingly intentional, between buildings and in certain chunks of the middle and lower rings. Vague figures come into focus in every direction, huddled together around a fire, loitering outside businesses, going between buildings or down some mysterious route. 

Every single one of them making up the whole of Megaton. Obviously there’s a bit of a class gap, but those that live in the lower rings literally hold up the rest of the city. No one person living here can do so without affecting their neighbor - and that’s what this place is about, I suppose. A chunk of normalcy, of safety, of reliability and community amidst a dangerous, terrifying world. Where would I be without it? Without Megaton? Without Officer Gomez, Amata, and everyone else who helped me down in the vault? And then there’s Jonas, and Dad...forget where,  _ who _ would I be without them? 

This. This is what I needed. A not-so-subtle reminder of where I am, where I’ve been and where I intend to go. The importance of things, of connections, of people. Of friends. I have to talk to him. I have to just fight through the embarrassment and worry and just, confront him. I’ve practically bull-rushed into every conflict I’ve encountered so far, no need to treat this one any differently. 

Tomorrow, I’ll look for him at the Lantern. I don’t care how it makes me look. For now, though. For tonight, I’ll let myself enjoy this moment. 

 

Waking up is the easy part. Now I’ve just got the rest of the day to get through. Not much left to do around the house. I throw together a breakfast that’s half decent, have a cup of coffee with some milk, sit around for awhile, refill my cup. Books. I need books. I wonder where Moira got the one she lent me? Or how many more she might have.

Moira. There’s an idea. She’s still got work for me, if I want - no. Before I can even finish the thought, I banish it from my mind. That fucking book of hers and all that “research” might just be what does me in. Some chapters were easier than others, sure. Injury, radiation sickness, the things that I know about and can answer for her. Those were nice. I liked those. 

The thought of spending an entire day in her company, trying to fill in the blanks for her fucking book, is so draining I help myself to a third cup of coffee. Sorry, Moira. I’m not bailing on you - yet - I just can’t do it today. Walter, maybe. I like Walter. I like working with him, and and I like the work he gives me to do. Whatever it is, it’s usually for the betterment of the city instead of just some glamour project. And my leg still needs some physical therapy, as it were. 

Well, I guess that decides that. Before I head out, I fill the tub with some hot water and abraxo to soak my old clothes in, and hopefully clean them up a bit. Picking up the tiny satchel I use to hold caps, I pause for a moment and reflect over it. I’d gotten this from Silver when Moriarty strong-armed me into doing his dirty work. That was, what....God, a month ago? A month! Doesn’t feel right - like it’s too long  _ and  _ too short.   

Like all the events that have happened since then weren’t sequential. Going into the Super Duper Mart feels like it should have happened  a week or so after leaving the vault, but it was the next day. Thinking about it now, I’m not even put off by the memories like I used to be. The look on that woman’s face, the first person I’ve ever killed, used to terrorize me all night long. But now it just has this anti-climactic feeling of; Oh. 

The bear attack. Super Mutants. Raiders, ghouls, mole rats, landmines.  _ So much _ has happened. How can it all fit into one short month? And yet, thinking about the vault brings on an entirely conflicting thought. 

Dad, Amata, Butch, Jonas - God, Jonas. Just thinking his name sends a bolt like lightning through my chest. Going to class, working on pip-boys, spending time at the clinic. Those memories feel as distant as years past, not just weeks. Like they’re not even memories, just some nice dream I had once upon a time at the common house. 

A weight grows in my stomach. A feeling, not necessarily of pain, but of...discomfort or unease. Like a weird emotional nausea. I need to just..get out of the house. Go to Walter’s, find something to do to keep my mind busy, keep my body active instead of just sitting here reeling at the effects of time. 

 

It works well enough. Walter’s always got some disaster or other needing attention. This time I work inside the plant with him, following his instructions to optimize the osmotic pressure for the main pipeline without bursting the rest. I find myself ceaselessly impressed by Walter, and what he can manage to do with a pile of rusted scrap metal and a wrench. 

The work keeps my attention so well that when he finally calls it quits for the day, it’s hours past when I’d have originally begun my nightly routine. Thank God for that house. Just as well, keeps me from looking too desperate by walking into the Lantern at the peak of rush hour. 

Even so, when I do finally make it, he’s not there. Could he have left already? Or has he just not shown up yet?

Two hours in, he doesn’t come, and I’m completely thrown. I keep expecting, or maybe hoping, someone will ask me ‘hey, where’s your buddy?’ or tell me, ‘he left town this morning’. Or...something. I’d expected at least  _ something _ .

Maybe a fight. Maybe a shouting match, maybe a cold shoulder. Maybe an overlapping rambling of apologies from both of us before an awkward laugh and complacent silence. Maybe we talk calmly, maybe we debate for hours and still disagree and have to try again tomorrow.

It’s like preparing for a power outage, or food shortage, or water contamination, or fire, and getting...nothing. I was prepared for  _ something  _ to happen. I don’t know what to do with nothing. So, I do the only thing I can think of, and just drink. 

 

He’s not there the next day, either. Or the next, or the next. On the fifth night, I stay longer than usual. I drink more, faster than usual. For a while I fight, then give into the fact that I miss him. I miss him and I’m angry, but that’s not why I drink. I drink long and hard because I realize that I’m out of distractions. 

I can get more work from Walter, or tempt fate by taking up more research for Moira. But by now, any of that would be nothing more than repetitive. I came out of the vault a month ago, stumbling and confused like a child. But I’ve finally found my footing, or have started to at least. I need to stop wasting time and start moving forward. 

I think it’s time I finally make my way to DC. 


	7. Chapter 7

Galaxy News Radio. Somewhere in the city. That’s what Moriarty told me so many weeks ago, and it’s never left my mind. Every night I lie awake, wondering if I wasted too much time, if he’s still alive, those words play over in my head. In the city. Galaxy News Radio. In the heart of D.C. 

More words come to mind following those: Raiders. Super mutants. Danger. Death. If I’m gonna be an idiot, I can at least be smart about it. This 10mm pistol, which felt so heavy in my hand when I first held it, now feels no more protective than a tin can. It took multiple magazines, grenades, and Jack’s magnum to take down the small handful of runt mutants by Big Town. 

Early the next morning, I set out for Craterside Supply, and every step feels like one towards my own death. I have a considerable amount of caps saved up. Enough that I won’t have to trade in my pistol-- I want to save it for raiders or mole rats, but there’s no pretending that’ll be enough for everything. I have my sniper rifle, too, but I’ve never used anything like it before. I can practice on small game, but I definitely can’t rely on it. 

In any case, I’m going to need another, bigger gun, and a lot more ammunition. I expect to have no more than a handful of caps by the time I’m done. Hopefully Moira’s willing to work out a bit of a deal. She certainly owes me one, or several, by now. 

It takes a couple of hours. I had no idea she had so many guns. I wouldn’t, though. She keeps most of them under guard, lock and key. She has me hold countless different kinds, rifles, projectiles, pistols. Some of them feel too heavy, some of them are in too much disrepair. Eventually, I settle on a .44 magnum, though it’s not nearly as nice as Jack’s was. His was a bright silver with a custom, dark wood stock. The one Moira sells to me - which takes the biggest chunk out of my savings - is plain and worn, but it works. 

On top of that, I buy up all the ammo she has on hand, for both the magnum and the 10mil. God bless her, she gives me a great deal on it, too. I also buy up a large and sturdy combat knife, a shock baton, and as many grenades as I can fit into my pack. All that along with medical supplies, needles and some thick thread, I’ve got about 30 caps left to my name. 

There’s not much said between us besides business talk. She doesn’t bring up the book, she doesn’t distract from the topic. Tells me everything she knows about each gun or weapon, even some advice if she has any. Says to take the metro into the city - underground, there’s a definite lack of raiders, slavers, bears, and mutants waiting for me to wander across their path. More direct, easy to follow, and cuts through most of the debris that surrounds and blocks off the city. 

Once she’s said her fill, I hoist my pack and ready to leave when she catches me. “Blake,” her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Be...Be careful.” I didn’t know she could speak so solemnly. I’m taken aback by it at first, but it’s not just the tone of her voice. It’s that she actually said it at all. 

“I...y-yeah, I will. Thanks, Moira. For everything.” She nods. The next moment of uncertainty, of wondering if this is goodbye, feels too familiar. For a split second I don’t see Moira looking back at me with a crease in her brow; I see Amata standing in my room. Reflecting on it now, it felt like wonderment at the time, but I think both of us knew on some level that we were never going to see each other again. I wonder if that’s the case now, too. 

There’s no voice over the intercom or immediate danger to force me to leave now. This time, I can stay. I can go back to the bed I know or stay in the safety of the home I made. This time, I don’t. This time my feet move of their own volition, for the first time moving towards something instead of running away. I don’t recognize it right away, but there’s a certain power in it as I do. I don’t expect it to last long, but it’s nice while it does. 

Next stop is Walter’s. I was hoping to purchase some of his scrap metal, but I don’t think it’d be wise to lose more money. I feel a little trepidatious asking Walter for a favor, but once I work up the courage, he’s surprisingly compliant. He can’t give me all he’s got leftover, but given that I’ve helped him so much lately, there’s less of a need for slap-dash repair jobs. He only needs a certain amount on hand for emergency patches. He also offers to buy up any scrap metal I bring back to him, including screws, nuts, bolts, anything that sticks to a magnet. If I make it back in one piece, that might be worth considering.

Taking advantage of his generosity, I push to ask to borrow his soldering iron. I’ve built up some credit, having used it before and always returned it. He waves a dismissive hand with an impatient grunt - a more positive response I’d anticipated. 

Between the added 50 lbs of new purchases and my bad leg, the trek back home is tiring, but not miserable. That’s a good sign. Just getting to DC is the least of my worries. As soon as I get home, I begin making modifications to the jacket Butch gave me. First with the soldering iron, I meld together sheets of scrap metal to make thick sheets, patching together large and small pieces. If I have to, I place them on my table and use a mallet to force a curve that suits my intent.

Using a small knife and a  _ lot  _ of patience, I pull apart the seams that hold the inner lining to the leather outside, and orient the thick metal sheets along the chest and back. I would have liked to add some to the arms as well, but I don’t have enough scrap. Instead, I wrap rib-like strips along the inside, so at least from the front and back, my brachial artery has...some protection. It’ll come down to chance if a bullet makes it through the ridges, but it’s a smaller chance than without them. 

Most of the thread I bought from Moira goes to stitching the jacket back together. I’d hoped to have a little more left over for quick patches in the field, but alas. If bullets make it through this, I’ve got bigger problems than aesthetics. 

There’s not much to be done with my jeans. Any scrap metal I have left is small chunks, only enough for one pair and not enough to offer any actual protection. I can’t afford anything else from Moira. Maybe one of the shady leather and armament shops on the lower ring, but I’d rely on my own luck rather than their products. The jacket is stiff and heavy, but fits well enough and significantly more protective. All I need it to do is buy me a second chance.

The project lasts deep into the night. I had originally thought to do as much as I could with the rest of the sunlight and then finish tomorrow. I should have known better, though. It never worked out that way before - for me or my dad. I get what sleep I can before heading out early the next day.

 

There’s barely any space left in my pack, but whatever there is, I fill with food. Mostly jerky, some cans of beans, and a large can of rice. I’m going on the assumption there will be a shortage of cafeterias from here on out. I might be able to hunt if I can figure out how to properly butcher and cook mole rat meat, but on the good chance that doesn’t pan out too smoothly, I’d like to be prepared. 

Besides that, I fill my canteen and that’s it. That’s all that’s left to do. I’m as ready as I’m going to be. Now’s the time to leave. But I can’t. I’m standing at my front door, hand around the handle, but I can’t bring myself to turn it. 

I keep thinking about what’s happened so far. What if I run into another yao guai? Or some stray mine that doesn’t have a convenient, giant sign reading ‘MINEFIELD’? Jack’s not here to save my ass this time. No one is. I’m on my own. But...so is my father. So I’m gonna have to take a different approach. I’ll have to be careful, slow, cautious.  

The station I need to find, according to Moira, is only a half hours walk past the Super Duper Mart to the Northwest. Even though I’ve hoofed that route countless times by now, I can almost hear the death bell tolls as I push open the door. I walk through the Megaton gates, half expecting Armageddon to erupt around me the next instant. But it doesn’t, and I am only greeted by the creep of the first rays of sunlight. In the next hour, all I come across is a couple bloatflies and a malnourished pack of molerats. Easy enough to take care of with either the repellant stick or the shock baton. 

The closer I get to the coordinates Moira gave me, the more I keep checking my pip-boy. The marker grows bigger and my steps more precise, until I look up just in time to avoid walking straight into the metal frame of the Farragut West Station stairwell. The area looks so similar to where Jack and I had been ambushed, for a split second I expect a firefight to start. I even grab my pistol, lifting it halfway out of its holster before realizing I don’t need to. Still, I keep a hand on it as I descend to the subway. 

This anxiety is going to fucking kill me. Every step I take or change of the wind, I expect  _ something  _ to burst out and attack. I’m so high strung I actually fucking scream when I first get hit with bloatfly bile. It didn’t even hit my skin through my jacket, so it barely even hurt. I need to calm the fuck down before I shoot my own goddamn shadow. So, y’know, it’s a good thing I’m walking into this dark, wet, cramped horror tunnel. That’ll help. 

For a while, all I get is molerats. Big packs of them, too. If it weren’t for the repellent stick, the scent of which actually keeps others at bay, I would’ve easily gotten swarmed and eaten alive. Of course, right as I start to get even a little comfortable, I run into a of ‘pack’ of feral ghouls; but I get lucky. They spot me as I’m crossing a bridge over some kind of putrid vat. I backtrack and let them bottleneck, taking them out one by one with my pistol. One shot, right to the head. Some of them fall over the railings, into the vats below, and make sputtering gurgling splashing noises as they drown.

During the next moment of quiet, I check the time and surprised at how late in the day it’s become - surprised even further when it makes me realize how dependent I’ve become on the actual movement of the sun. How did I ever have a sense of time under nothing but synthetic light? 

My leg is aching quite a bit by now, so I take the opportunity and find a place to rest against an old train car. It’s relatively protected from most sides, but not so much so that I literally corner myself. Making sure my magnum is within quick and easy reach, the first thing I go for in my pack is some fucking painkillers. I’ve already started limping, and I’ve still got a long ways to go. I can’t let a little pain, of all things, hold me back. 

Next, while I still have the time, I crack open the first can of beans. Counter to my expectations, they’re actually pretty tasty. Not that I’d go for them over a brahmin steak, but surely over charred mole rat meat. 

From then on, it’s a lot quieter. My leg still complains, but my stride is steady. For now, anyway. I run into only a few stray ferals, one at a time and far and few in between. Even that eventually dwindles down to radroaches _. Just _ radroaches. Were I more experienced, I might have recognized that for red flag it is. But my pip-boy says I’m almost there, and that has all of my attention. 

As I near my ‘exit’, the station Moira told me to resurface from, I spot a figure. A large one, looming and muscular. I can’t tell if it’s facing me or not, I just do my best to hunker down behind a cement half-wall. I think my heart actually fucking  _ stops _ when I hear it grunt, “Eh...? Who’s there?!” 

Oh fuck. Oh shit it’s coming for me and it’s - wait, what? There’s another sound, a rasping gurgle. Christ, a feral, too? Only it’s not coming from behind me. I hear it up ahead, and daring to peek out from my hiding spot, I see another silhouette. Gangly and thin, it shambles towards the super mutant who, reaching up, pulls something from its back and swings. If the mutants weapon were like a baseball bat, the ferals head is a watermelon. The sound it makes when it bursts and spatters all over the walls and floor  _ almost _ make me puke. 

Or maybe that’s just the terror piling up in my stomach. My shaking hand grips my .44, unused until now. Can I stand without throwing up, or screaming? Unsure. Can I lift my arm enough to aim? Yes. Can I kill this thing in one shot? ...No. 

It turns. Sees me. Shit. Shit, I can’t fucking kill this thing. Even if I could get it in the head on the first shot, would that be enough? Fuck it’s running towards me. I can’t kill it in one shot. What do I do? It’s drawing its weapon. I can’t...kill it...  
_Go for the head if you can, quickest, cleanest, almost always guaranteed kill...Can’t do that, disable em. Take out an ankle or knee cap, keep ‘em from comin’ after ya ‘til y’can finish ‘em off._

Disable. Leg. Rupture femoral artery -- skin too thick, multiple shots, lose ground. Destroy femorotibial articulation. Aim lower, fire. It staggers. Fire. It screams. If there’s more of them, do I run? Fire. It falls. Three shots left. It tries to stand, its leg dangling from its thigh by no more than some tendons and shredded muscles. 

I reload and take a few steps forward. It hurls its weapon -- a two-by-four with nails -- but misses me by a large margin. What’s a super mutant’s vision like? Is that why only some of them wield firearms? Is it a matter of depth perception like with humans, or is it a matter of rank? 

It crawls towards me, still screaming. More out of rage than pain, it seems. Do they feel? Do they have nerve endings and synapses? Focus. Steady aim. Finger over the trigger, exhale, fire. It howls in agony as its eye bursts. Fire. I hear a crack, its scream turns to a gurgle. Fire. Pieces of its head scatter behind it, and it falls forward into the ground, motionless, quiet. 

No more come running out, but its screams echo off the walls, through my ear canals, horrific and bone-chilling. Great, just in time. I was beginning to run out of nightmare fuel and almost had a chance at a decent nights sleep for once. Thank goodness. 

Like waking up from a night terror, I feel myself practically re-enter my body. Like part of my brain shut off and is just now waking up again. Which means becoming aware of my pounding heart, my dry throat and churning stomach. My hands begin to shake as I attempt to reload the magnum. I have to focus very intently so as to not drop any bullets and lose them amongst the empty casings at my feet. Then I have to force my legs, which feel like rusted springs, to move forward. I still feel like I’m not all here, like I’m leaving part of me behind. A part that’s too scared to move forward. Maybe I am...

It only takes a few more minutes to reach the gates to the outside, and it’s eerily reminiscent of the vault. Forcing myself upwards to a locked door, sunlight spilling in through the gaps of the bars. I don’t know if it’s because of that, natural fear, or some combination of the two that makes it so hard to pull the gate open. Despite everything that just transpired, staying below ground still feels safer than  _ out there _ . It’s familiar, comfortable. Safe. Like my father always said.

I know that I still  _ don’t  _ know exactly how right he was. All I have to go on is what I’ve experienced so far, which even then, is nothing less than Hell. And somehow I get the feeling, I haven’t even scratched the surface. What new horror lies beyond these doors? Having been safe and warm in my own bed this morning, where will I be tomorrow? A week from now? Years from now? Will I find a new home with people I love, or a shallow grave? Every moment is uncertain, and things can change in the blink of an eye. 

Even so...

I look up, outward, into the glaring sunlight warming patches of my face. Even after everything, all the fear and pain...I don’t regret any of it. Not for one second. The gate pulls aside, lighter than I expected, screeching a little from rust and wear. 

I have to squint to see under the full bombardment of  the setting sunlight. Is this what Jack feels all the time? God, it’s draining to even think about. Once I can actually fuckin’ see properly, I walk up the short staircase to the plaza with my magnum at the ready, but there is only silence to greet me. I guess a part of me had really expected a full on super mutant camp right out of the gate. I pour over every speck of rubble in sight, and there’s not a trace of movement. No rustle of sound beyond the wind. I look left, right, and... _ up _ . God _ damn _ these buildings are  _ huge _ ! I thought Megaton was a wonder, but man. These buildings, even what’s left of them, are  _ incredible _ . 

Incredible and risky. It’s gonna be a lot harder to tell what’s coming around the next corner when there’s so many. Grants me more cover, sure, but the same stays true for every threat out there. Hunkering by a nearby train schedule board, I check my pip-boy. From what I remember, GNR was relatively close by the metro station. Looks like it’s almost due-south, if not for having to navigate around buildings. 

I barely make it around the block corner before spotting two chunks of yellowish green, moving with purpose toward the bare framework of a cement building across the street. And in a wild stroke of luck, they’re facing the other way. Rather than ducking into cover right away and risk losing my shot, I drop to a knee, aim, and pull the trigger. The bullet tears through the base of the skull of the mutant closes to me. It lives long enough to screech in pain and grab at its own neck before it teteres to the side and falls. Huh. That was...surprisingly easy. Here I was just going for full on decapitation-by-bullet. 

The other turns - do I hear shouting? - it looks down onto its fallen companion. I fire the second shot to take out its eyes, but there’s a bright burst of red. Only it’s not blood. Brighter than blood, and...glowing?  The thing stumbles backwards, screaming and drawing its own weapon. Shit, this one’s got a rifle. Instead of coming for me, it swings to the side. I fire a third time, landing one right in its temple. Again it loses its footing and beams of light zip past as it’s moved out of their line of fire. Are those  _ lasers _ ?!  It almost falls to a knee, and I use the moment of opportunity for another shot, same spot, right into the temple. If anything, the force and increasing layers of projectile will push the first bullet further into its skull. It swoons, threatening to follow its companion to the ground, but another round of red beams rain into its torso, actually knocking it off its feet. It lands on its back with an impressive crash, and ceases to move. 

A horrible silence follows. These moments, after the last thing dies, are always the most tense. Are there more? Is it dead? Who else is out there? The question is stolen from my own mouth.

“Who goes there? Identify yourself!” A masculine voice commands, coming somewhere from my left. I move aside, putting a cement pillar between myself and the direction of the voice.

“You first!” I call back, hoping to mask the sound of my casings dropping on the concrete as I reload. 

“We are the Lyon’s Pride, from the Brotherhood of Steel! Now identify yourself or we will be forced to open fire!” They’re the  _ what  _ of the  _ who _ ? Peeking out from my spot of cover, I see three large chunks of metal moving into the open before kneeling down in an organized formation. Military? ‘Or we’ll be forced to open fire’...So, friendly until proven otherwise, huh?

“I’m a traveller from Megaton!” 

“Show yourself!” 

Tsk... I hesitate to trust them. Like Jack said, it’s not like they’ll tell me whether or not they’re going to shoot me. But between the three of them in whatever kind of armor that is and myself, I don’t stand a chance anyway. My best bet in the worst case is to just run. I step away from the pillar, hands slightly raised with one still wrapped around my revolver. 

“Stand down!” A feminine voice this time. “Just a civilian.” Civilian? Sure sounds military to me. One of them approaches, her giant gun resting at her side. “What the  _ hell _ do you think you’re doing?!” 

What am I doing? What the fuck does it look like? “Well, I’ve heard that the shopping in the city is just to  _ die _ for!” 

“Don’t be flippant with me.” She barks. “State your business.”

I start to put together another jibe in my mind before thinking I might not want to piss off the heavily armed, heavily armoured pseudo-military. “I’m trying to get to GNR.” 

“Well, you’re lucky we found you first. The place is totally overrun by super mutants.” A jolt tears through my chest. Overrun? No. No, goddamnit, no! I knew it, I waited too long. If only I had gotten here sooner, I could have - is he still - is he dea-? “We’re heading there now to try and clear it out, so you’ll want to stay clear of the area for a whi-”

“I’m going with you!” I blurt out before I can put together a more diplomatic persuasion.

“Absolutely not. You just compromised our battle-” She gestures towards the fallen mutants, and I cut her off.

“Compromised?! Uh, I think the words you might be looking for are ‘kicked ass’. Or, I’m sorry, did I see it wrong? Was it one of  _ your _ men that took down  _ two  _ mutants with my revolver?” 

She sneers, but we both know I’ve got her in a corner. “Look, this is a delicate operation. There’s a whole, organized pack trying to take the building, more than that little peashooter can handle on its own.” 

Peashooter?! Peashooter my ass! “Oh, you mean the gun that I nearly decapitated one of them with?” She opens her mouth to debate, but I continue over her. “Look, I promise I won’t get in the way, and it sounds like you can use the manpower. I’m going there anyway and, geared up as you are, they’re still super mutants, aren’t they? Another gun can’t hurt.” It’s a gamble to say so, since I have no clue about what this group is capable of. But it seems to work as she shifts uncomfortably on the spot. 

“Fine. If you’re already going that way, we can use all the help we can get. Just stay down when I tell you, and move when I tell you, uh...?”

“Blake.”

She nods. “Call me Lyons. Move out.” She turns and walks towards the fallen muties, and her men give me long side-glances as they pass to follow her. They step over the giant bodies with no more consideration than if they’d been another pile of debris. I want to stop and rummage, but I don’t want to be chastised for falling behind, so I sacrifice the loot and keep moving forward, and through a small building. 

There’s not a few moments stillness before we come upon the dull roar of shouting, gunfire and explosions. “Alright, GNR is just across the plaza. If we’re lucky, we can get the jump on most of them and take them out before drawing too much attention to ourselves.” Says the blonde one. She gives me a long lookover, but I just nod to show I’m ready. It sounds like a full on war out there. I feel weak, queasy, light-headed, but I’m ready. If there’s even a  _ chance _ my father is there...

With a sweep of her hand, we’re moving forward. They pour out the open doorway, two of them moving to the right while she moves to the left. Instinctively, I follow her until she stops, where I take a knee and practically use her as cover as I scan the area. City plaza, fountain in the center, heavily fortified building to the north. GNR? Most streets leading away are blocked off and barricaded with barrels, cars, chain link fences. On a quick glance, I see maybe six mutants spread out and moving toward the building. More of them dead on the ground. Worry about that later.

Ready, aim, fire. Between the buildings and makeshift barricades, the city plaza is like an echo chamber. The shot from my magnum splits my ears, but it’s also impossible to pinpoint where it came from. Red laser fire zips by from all directions; are there more Brotherhood people here? 

Two shots to the nape take down the one nearest me. Possible weak spot? One shot in the next furthest, though it was moving pretty slow to begin with. It’s fucking chaos. The woman I’m following keeps running forward then stopping, then moving again at seemingly random intervals without direction. I don’t pay enough attention to try and figure it out, I just stick to her like a magnet and shoot at anything large and green. 

We’re about halfway to the staircase leading up to GNR, and glancing around, it looks like there’s maybe only two or three left. As we pass the fountain a few meters to our right, I take in a hasty breath of relief when a noise rings out that makes  _ everyone _ stop. A rumbling, crushing, scraping noise like the vault door, only as big to match the city block. Even the mutants let out growls of confusion and anticipation. No one even knows where to look, then there’s another gargantuan rumble as a chunk of the building down the street falls to the ground. 

All eyes are focused now, watching beyond the pseudo-wall made of stacked tour buses. My heart is in my throat. Silence falls. I look to the soldier woman, who looks like she’s actually shitting a brick. 

“Uh...what the hell is -” I think there’s an explosion. The only thing I’m aware of next is a loud ringing in my ears, a blinding whitewash of my vision, and  _ incredible _ pain in the back of my head. My head rolls and I blink hard, trying to expedite the reboot of my brain. I must have been thrown, I’m sitting against something: the fountain in the plaza center. I manage to stand, but I have to lean on the edge. Rubbing my eyes brings things slowly back to focus. The wall of buses is just  _ gone _ . And through it, comes...

There are no profanities well-suited enough to this situation. “Holy fucking Christ on a burning cross” is woefully insufficient. A mutant, half the size of the buildings around it, stands in the fresh opening, the smaller mutant closest to its feet turned into a nice pile of goo by the impact. Chunks of that gigantic metal armor lay around it, too. 

As if I weren’t sufficiently fucking terrified, the thing  _ roars _ . It’s a wave of sound that vibrates to my very bones, shaking my entire body and the ground around me. Jesus fucking Christ I’m going to die. It turns its immense head, surveying the comparatively tiny bodies around it. Oh my god. I’m going to die. What the hell is that thing?! 

“BLAKE!” Is that - ? Is someone...? I glance around, wondering if an Archangel has finally appeared to escort me to the afterlife. But no, not an angel. The soldier woman, blood smearing her face and her leg pinned under a chunk of concrete, is gesturing wildly in my direction and pointing at something. Following the direction of her finger, I have to twist my whole body to look inside the fountain I’m leaning on. Oh. Shit. 

An actual, honest-to-god FatMan. I never thought I’d ever see one, much less - Oh my god. Oh man this shit is so fucked. Next to it is a tiny stock-pile of mini-nukes, just like the one Moira lent me. And by stock-pile I mean, like, three. I look over my shoulder as the biblical monstrosity raises something over its head and slams it into the ground, knocking us all off our feet. I feel something warm and wet spatter against the back of my neck, and have to fight down the urge to puke. Are three going to be enough?

I glance back to Lyons, uncertain of what to do - or if I can even do it. She charades hoisting the thing onto her shoulder. I have to kneel to support the weight of it, but the nuke is easy enough to drop into the shoot. Good thing I’ve got a big target. I have to use my whole hand to squeeze the trigger, and the thing launches with a high-pitched whistle. 

The monsters attention turns to the noise, and we all watch, half a second of silence dragging on for minutes, as the bulbous projectile descends into its torso. I raise an arm over my face and close my eyes against the brightness of the blast. A true to form, miniature nuclear explosion erupts over the beast. An immense wave of heat rushes over my body and I feel parts of my hands tingle. 

Peeking up when I’m able, my chest tightens. The thing is  _ still standing _ , leaning against the GNR building and taking deep breaths like great gusts of wind. A round laceration, the size of one of the buses it had burst through, spreads over its torso. Deep red blood rushes onto the ground like a waterfall, and I can see the shine of bits of viscera dangling out of the new, incomplete opening. 

This time, I do throw up. This must be hell. This world, everything in it, there’s no way this is real life. I must have been shot and killed in the vault, and now I’m left in the torment of the afterlife. 

“Blake! One more!!” Lyon’s voice calls out behind me. Is  _ she  _ real? Is this all just my personal hell, or are we all stuck here together? I think she calls my name again, but it’s drowned out by the monsters strained roar as it attempts to push itself up. If none of this is real, why bother? And even if it is...who wants to go on living in a world like this? 

I turn to look at her, and her eyes are wide with fear, horror, and desperation. Just like mine. Why? Why on all the earth and sky would anyone want to keep living in this world? Why keep fighting? Why keep suffering? 

Is this the world my father left me for?

How could he...?

I load the second of three mini-nukes, aim, and close my eyes before pulling the trigger. 

I brace against the shock of the explosion and cover my face again from the heat. I think I can feel first degree burns eat into the flesh on my hands. I wait, and seconds later I’m once again thrown to the ground. The earth shakes like it’s about to open up and devour us whole, and once it stops, there is a rigid silence. I dare to look up, and I see the giant mass on the ground, a lake of blood pooling around it, steam rising from its cauterized flesh. 

I bend over and hurl again, heaving up bile and whatever else is left in my stomach to dispel. What the fuck...what the fuck was that?! Is  _ that  _ what Jack meant about ‘runts’? Was that a ‘real’ super mutant? Someone claps a hand on my shoulder, and I barely move.

“What...the  _ fuck _ was  _ that _ ?” I breathe, barely able to speak over my nausea.

“That,” Lyon’s says with a forceful exhale, “was a Behemoth.”

A Behemoth? That sounds like a few grades above a run-of-the-mill super mutant. “...Are there more of them?” 

“Not if you’re lucky. Only the second one I’ve ever seen.” There’s a slight lull as I keep staring ahead and try to decide if this is hell or not. And then I turn to her, remembering she’d been pinned only moments ago. 

“I - Are you okay?!” 

“I’m alright.” She says in a deadpan, a forced calm, but she’s only weight-bearing on one leg. “If you’ve got business inside, Sergeant Vegas can escort you. I still have some...work to do out here.” Her tone drops, and my eyes comb over the multiple armored bodies - and bits of armor that don’t belong to anything whole. She gestures and one of the men from before come forward and salute. “Take her inside. I’m going to get started out here.”

The man nods, drops the salute, and beckons me without even glancing my way. Running on auto-pilot myself, I know better than to take it personally. I have to make a conscious effort not to keep staring at the giant mass as we walk by and away. The human psyche, in all its fucked up glory, just can’t resist a heaping dose of absolute horror. 

“You’re a lucky one, ain’t’cha?” He says gruffly. “Somehow  _ you _ , of all people, managed to survive. Sergeant Withow, who’s the strongest, brightest, best trained Paladin I know didn’t make it out, but somehow  _ you _ did.” The resentment in his voice seeps into my bones. 

“I...” My mouth tries to form around words that aren’t there. What do you say to something like that?

He opens the door and steps aside, allowing me first passage. “It should have been you.” 

I drop my gaze. I know he’s mourning, angry and probably in shock. But most of me thinks he’s right. Of everyone else, why should  _ I  _ be left standing after all this? Why should I have stumbled in and out of that nightmare relatively whole when the most prepared fighters have fallen? “I know. I’m sorry.” He follows me inside, and I stop momentarily in surprise. I’d expected some kind of lobby on the other side of these doors, and maybe that’s what it had been once. 

More Brotherhood soldiers move about the area, some at particular stations and others on a wider parol. Makeshift walls of overturned filing cabinets, desks, and sandbags are organized in a semicircle facing the door we come through. There’s even a couple strategically mounted machine guns, making the place look more like a warfront than anything else I’ve seen so far. 

“Authorized civilian, comin’ through.” Says the soldier behind me. I turn to thank him, but he’s already halfway back out the door. Would have been worthless, anyway. Some of the people inside turn to look, but most continue on about their business. There’s two staircases, but they both lead to the same balcony and hallway. 

Trying not to look like a stray molerat runt, I try to look like I belong, winding up the stairs and avoiding eye-contact with any metal suit that turns my way. At the end of the hallway is a door, and another staircase beyond that. At the top of those stairs is what I expected to see below: Railing, recording and office equipment, stacked papers, coffee machines, cluttered desks; It’s almost pre-war. 

I turn in place, taking in parts of the room, and jump with surprise when I see a man with glasses and a knitted hat sitting at a desk. He’d been in my blind-spot until now, watching me with a finger curled over his curious smirk. Who the hell-?

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says, straightening in his chair and entangling his fingers in his lap. “ ‘Who the hell is this guy, and why should I care?’ Well, prepare to be enlightened.” Oh fucking Christ, here we go. “I am... _ Three Dog _ . Jockey of discs, teller of truths, Lord and Master over the finest radio station to grace the wastes: Galaxy News Radio!” I’m about to ask him how long he’d been working on that monologue, but he  _ keeps going _ . “And of course, I already know who you are.” ...Wait, what? “Heard about you leavin’ the vault, travelin’ the unknown. Just like dear ol’ Dad, huh?” Okay, now he has my attention. 

“How the hell do you--”

“Met him already.” 

“Met.” I repeat. “So, he’s not here anymore.” I feel absolutely torn, chewed up by the jaws of the Behemoth and spit out to rot. On the one hand, he’s  _ alive _ . I could dance a jig I’m so relieved. But again, he’s not  _ here _ . Why am I always just one step behind? 

He smiles. “Chip off the ol’ block, ain’t ya?” Finally, feeling that the moment is right I suppose, he stands from the chair. He folds his arms and walks towards me, eyes down and taking slow, dramatic steps as he talks. “He was here, at Galaxy News. Real stand-up guy. We had some pretty great conversations.” My lips curl in a refrained smile and I avert my eyes, daring not to delve into memory. “He talked about you.” My eyes snap back up and my heart skips. Why am I surprised? Maybe because it’s the first time I’ve heard from anyone that he’s even mentioned me at all. And only now do I realize the knot that’s been growing in my stomach, wondering all the time if he’s completely forgotten me. If, upon leaving the vault, he never even looked back.

“He did?” 

“Briefly. Said he had a daughter, brighter and more gifted than he ever dared to dream. ‘So much like her mother’, he said.” His words fall on my shoulders and through my body like bricks. It had been so much easier to take things day by day. It’s the only way I’ve kept myself going, thinking only of the next moment and nothing more. Just focus on whatever that next step is going to take, do that, and then repeat. It was so much easier to suppress all my fear, anger, and loneliness when it’s not being shoved into my face. I turn away, trying desperately to compose myself before saying anything more. His theatrical facade drops and he says “Hey, you’ve uh, got...something on your neck.” 

Absentmindedly, my hand reaches up and rubs my nape, spreading over a patch of wetness, and I remember being splattered by something when the Behemoth attacked. Or someone, apparently. Bright red blood smears over my palm, and I become shockingly aware of every speck adorning the back of my neck and head. And that’s it. I break.

My knees go weak, and I have to grasp the nearby railing to keep myself from sinking straight to the ground. My clean hand covers my face, and I’m completely ashamed as my tears force their way through my closed fingers. Damnit. Goddamnit...! It’s too much. I knew better than to think my dad would actually be here, but still I’d hoped. Against all logic, I’d hoped, and now I don’t know what to do. I’ve fought and killed and bled to get here, and for what? I’ve lost so much. My home, my leg, my face. Everything I have. I’m so scared, so utterly terrified. Not just of losing my father, but losing what little is left of me.

“Hey now...” I hear him mutter, awkward and uncomfortable. I try to force myself to stop, but it only makes everything worse. Unable to even hold myself up anymore, I fall to my knees on the floor, bent over and sobbing. 

“I’m so tired.” I mean to only think the words, but they come pouring out as uninvited as the tears. “I’m just  _ so tired _ . I can’t...I can’t go back out there!” Hearing my own weeping voice is like gas on this fire I can’t control. For several awkward, horrible minutes I just sit there and cry, unable to take even a full breath.

Gradually, as the tears do away with the excessive neurotransmitters, I begin to calm down. I remember I’m in front of a stranger. I remember this is not my home. I remember that no one but me gives a shit about my problems. “Sorry.” My voice shakes, and I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, I - it’s...been a long week.” I stand and smile, trying to shrug it off and make small of it in hopes he will, too. 

“Hey man, I get it.” He says with what might be, would I dare to believe it, genuine sympathy. “Now your old man ain’t here, but I know where he went.”  

“You do?” He hesitates in the same way Moira does when she’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “Please,” my voice breaks and it’s all I can do to not burst into tears again. “Please, just tell me. I’ll pay you, whatever you want, I just...I need to know.  _ Please _ , tell me where he is.” He sighs; I guess the crying-vulnerable-mess show did the trick.

“We talked a lot while he was here. Science, family, the Good Fight, y’know.”

Uh...“The ‘good fight’?” I ask with a sniff

“Yeah, y’know. Y’got this picture of the Capitol Wasteland, right? Brick and rock, a whole lotta nothin. But there’s people out there, fighting to stay alive, make somethin’ of what they got, barely makin’ it from day to day. And then you got shit like raiders, slavers, super mutants - everyone that wants a piece of the pie, and aim to take it by force.” I recoil a little bit, mildly bowled over by surprise and... _ relief _ . A sense of solace and validation that someone  _ else _ gets it. I look around the room again, over all the radio equipment. I think about the Brotherhood downstairs, about all the people in Megaton, Arefu, and Big Town. I nod slowly in comprehension. 

“The Good Fight. I fight it with guns. You fight it with your voice.” 

He smiles wide. “You really are his daughter.” My eyes drop. Don’t cry again, dammit. “He told me all about some big scientific project he’d been working on that I didn’t understand. But I remember him callin’ it Project Purity. Talked about a Dr. Li in Rivet City, then took off in a hurry.” 

“Rivet City? How...far is that?” I try to sound courageous, but my fear seeps through the weakness in my voice.

“It’s...a bit of a long trip. ‘Bout a day and a half’s walk through the city.” My shoulders drop, disappointment so heavy that I go beyond wanting to cry. I don’t think I have it in me to cry, or fight or even walk. I’m so... “Look, I got a deal for you. He only left a few days ago, I’d bet my beanie he’s still there. And it seems like you could use some downtime before you go runnin’ into the line of fire again. I tell you what. You stay here for a couple days, rest and regroup. I got some work I can put you to, that’ll pay for room and food and whatever else you use. Then whenever you’re ready, you head on out.” 

That sounds...reasonable, actually. But reason isn’t something I’m accustomed to these days. “What makes you so quick to trust me?” 

He laughs. “If meetin’ your father hadn’t been enough, I figure if the Brotherhood let you come up, you gotta be alright.” If reason is rare, this is something I never would have dared to dream of - real, genuine  _ compassion _ ? Here in the heart of D.C? I must have died outside after all. “Do we have a deal?”

“I...” Well, on the off-chance I didn’t die, it sounds pretty solid. “Yeah. Deal.” 

“Excellent.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I’m worn enough it makes me stumble forward a little bit. “Why don’t you get settled in. We’ll discuss the work that needs done once you’re feeling up to it. S’a fridge, couch, everything one needs to live a comfortable, post-apocalyptic lifestyle right through there.” He jabs a thumb towards a wide, doorless archway. 

“Thanks.” 

I shuffle through and fall onto the couch like a ragdoll, bending over to undo my boots, if only for the sense of normalcy. Instead, my hands catch my face as it leans forward, elbows propped on my knees, and I curl into myself like a child trying to hide from the world. If I can’t see it, it can’t see me. If I keep my eyes closed long enough, maybe I won’t exist anymore. 

After a minute I try to convince myself to move, and fail. A few minutes later, the same. Not ready - not ready to exist again. Not yet. Keeping my eyes closed and my face covered keeps my mind still, and I feel like I can breathe again. 

Like power-cycling the reactor, I let my brain shut down completely. Cease function to cool off before trying to run it again, magically dispensing of whatever malfunctions and hiccups that forced the shutdown to begin with. After some arbitrary amount of time seated thus, I gradually begin to feel calm and collected - I dare say, even  _ rested _ , like I’d just slept through a hangover. Steeled against every little thing that, moments ago, rendered me into a weeping mass on the floor. Back to normal. All systems go. 

“Hokay,” I call into the main room with a sigh, not sure where ‘Three Dog’ went off too. “Let’s hear about this ‘work’.” The sound an office chair rolling back and the thud of footsteps announces him in the doorway. 

“Hungry? Always better to do business over a good meal.” Well, I’m not gonna turn that down. 

 

“So, let me make sure I understand this.” I say, resting the fork on my now empty plate and propping my elbows up on the table. “You need  _ me _ to haul a chunk of metal  _ half my size _ that, for  _ some  _ reason, the Brotherhood retrieved for you  _ but won’t deliver _ , and drag it up to the  _ very top _ of some enormous, phallic monument in the middle of the city, surrounded every which way by roaming packs of super mutants  _ and or _ raiders, and install it. Have I got all that right?” 

Three Dog’s eyes shift upward as he thinks, then nods and says “Yep. That’s about it.” I wait for him to try to sell it a little better, tell me I got something wrong, or at least  _ pretend _ it’ll be an easy thing to do. But nope. He said it; that’s it. 

“...Yeah. Alright.” I say with a dramatic shrug, pursing my lips in a careless frown. “Sure, why the fuck not? I just killed a goddamn Behemoth, I can do that, no problem.” I’m not sure if I’m desperate, in denial, or just flat out fucking bonkers. 

He can’t seem to tell, either, cause he just claps his hands together and says “My thoughts exactly!” Then he stands, collecting our plates. “Not tonight, of course, but whenever you’re ready just head on out. I’ll know when you’ve done it cause my signal will actually go further than a three block radius.” 

“You already told me where my dad is. How do you know I’m not gonna just take off?”

He shrugs before setting the dishes in the sink. “I don’t. But I’ve met your old man, I’ve seen what you can do  _ and _ ,” he looks at me over his shoulder for emphasis, “Don’t think I haven’t heard about some of your other feats.” I flush and avert my eyes. It’s not like I did them for the attention... “So, no.” He continues, returning to the table but not sitting down. “I don’t know that you won’t. But I trust that you won’t.” 

Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. And I don’t, for a second, underestimate the weight carried with it under this circumstance. I sigh and say with a worn smile, “Am I really that predictable?”  

He laughs. “Well, that’s not the word I’d use.” He walks away as if to leave, and as I’m pondering his meaning he pauses in the doorway to say “Reliable. That’s a better word.” He raps on the doorframe and leaves me to contemplate. 

 

Having my own bed has spoiled me into forgetting what sleeping on a couch feels like. Which, upon waking up the next morning, is really mostly just pain. It’s not quite as bad as the one in the Megaton common house, but still. I have to stretch and twist a few ways before the pressure relieves enough that I feel like I can move normally. 

Three Dog shows me the communications dish he needs installed, and it’s not  _ as  _ big as it sounded, but big enough. After a while of debating, arguing, planning, and more arguing, we figure out a way to strap it over my back like a reverse turtle shell. Needs some tweaking so I can still walk properly, and so I can drop it in case of impending violence. I have to leave my backpack behind, though. That, I’m not terribly thrilled about. 

I fit as much ammo as I can into the inner pockets of my jacket, hoping it will be enough. And since I’m only taking one kind of ammo, I leave behind my other two guns as well, taking only the magnum with me. The last pocket, I stash a total of  _ two  _ stimpaks, and nothing more. 

“I’m  _ really  _ not sure about this.” I say, feeling exceptionally bare without my backpack full of supplies.

“Trust me, it will be fine. Just stick to the sidewalks, keep your head down. Muties only roam the major streets and the raiders stay in the buildings. Gun fire is commonplace enough that no pack is gonna come investigating if you have to take out a couple of strays. You’ll be  _ fine _ .” I’m certain he’s just saying this so I don’t back out of the deal, but even though I know he’s lying through his teeth, it still actually helps a little. How’s that for a placebo effect? 

Fine. Back through the pack of soldiers, back out the main doors, back down and across the plaza. I have to physically block myself from looking towards the fallen Behemoth - the smell is enough to make me glad I didn’t eat anything besides a protein bar. 

The job is easy enough in principle. Brotherhood retrieved the dish for him, cleared out most of the super mutants that gathered up there. Most. This’d be a lot harder if they hadn’t, though. So, back down into the Metro station, this time heading towards the ‘Museum’ station. From there, a straight shot across what Three Dog called “The Mall” and up an elevator to the top of the monument. Easy enough. In principle. 

The metro tunnels don’t give me anything I can’t handle, more ghouls and molerats. Though I do lose a lot of time trying to save my bullets for the big game, and picking through them with only my baton or knife. Quite a bit messier, too, but dead is dead. 

I don’t even feel anxious until I exit the metro again. Like Three Dog said, I do hear gunfire, but the rise of the surrounding buildings throwing back the sound waves to each other distorts my ability to pinpoint its direction. 

Not taking the same chances I did when I arrived yesterday, I ascend the staircase with my gun drawn and pointed, finger over the trigger. Like last time, nothing is immediately there to greet me. Can’t get used to that, though. Soon as I do, those fuckin’ merc assholes are gonna be waiting for me.

Staying near the relative cover of the metro station, I take a long look at what remains of this chunk of the city. Which is really not much. Whatever ground had been between the sidewalks is now just one long, giant trench. No flags, no sigils, absolutely no markings to designate territory one way or another. Imagining the Brotherhood soldiers swarming the area conjures up a picture of one hell of a stand off, but I can’t think about that now. The monument is close enough that it towers over me, but far enough that I still have quite a ways to go. 

I make it about half a block a glimpse of movement catches my good peripheral and I hit the deck. A few meters to my right is a shamble of a cement wall, standing alone with missing chunks at random intervals. Behind it, though, is what grabs my interest. A lumbering mutant, larger than any I saw in the police station. Without a second to waste, I slide the dish off my shoulder and set it silently on the ground. The only thing within sprinting distance with any semblance of cover is an old, ornate light post, mounted on a solid cube of concrete. I slide in behind it just as the mutant crosses the wall into the street, grunting and muttering to itself.

Because I haven’t been traumatized enough in the past twenty-four hours, the thing also has with it a Big Fucking Gun - the barrel alone is as big as I am. Fuck my life, it’s got a  _ fucking mini-gun _ .

It trundles forward, seemingly directionless, almost in perfect profile. Given its size, unless I was  _ right _ behind it, there’s no way I can take it out in a single shot. Even if I could, are there others with it? They usually travel in packs, right? Why would this one be on its own? 

Before I can begin to hope to just hide until the thing goes away, it catches a glimmer of the fucking relay dish I left in the middle of the goddamn road. Shit. It comes closer. Shit. If I can get it to turn around - would my knife even get through its skin? Do I have a choice? If I fire, will more come?  _ Shit _ . I have to deal with this. Now. 

Relying purely on luck and the inherent dimwittedness of mutants, I grab a nearby chunk of rubble and hurl it the other direction. It crashes against the wall behind the mutant, which helpfully causes a small avalanche of eroded cement to tumble noisily. 

“Eh?!” The mutant swings it's massive gun around, turning a slow but full 180 degrees around. “HiDInG?!” it yells with uneven volume, then grunts with forceful enunciation, “Come. Out. Come. Out!” Which makes it seem less cognitive than the others. Because of its size...? Doesn't matter now. 

Heart between my ears and lungs filled with a restrained scream, I dash forward, leaping and wrapping one arm around its massive neck - that doesn't even reach all the way around. It roars. My other hand plunges the blade deep into its name. It screams, reaching up with one arm. I twist the knife. The blade breaks, blood spurts over my face, and its massive hand grabs the collar of my jacket. 

The next thing I know, I'm flying through the air, and then - black. 

 

* * *

 

Ugh... How much did I  _ drink _ ? Is someone blowing a whistle right next to my ear or is that in my head? It takes an effort to open my eyes, and above me is clear blue sky. God, my head feels like I got slammed into - oh  _ fuck!  _

Trying to raise my head is so painful I actually can't see for a few seconds - which is almost preferable to when I can. My ankle is wrapped securely in a giant green fist, and concrete is sliding underneath me. Fuck. This is bad. There's another mutant walking ahead of the one dragging me along. Oh fuck. This is really goddamn bad. 

My knife... Fuck, my knife broke. I reach down and feel around my hip - thank fucking God, my magnum is still there. They didn't take it? Or tie my hands and feet? Are they really that dull, or did they think I was already dead? Rather than ponder on where they're taking me or what they intend to do, I draw my gun. No plan. Just survival. 

In one motion I curl upward -  _ fuck my  _ **_head_ ** \- press the barrel into its elbow, and pull the trigger. Its howl and the echo of the magnum ring off the buildings, its arm falls to the ground, and with my ankle now free, I fucking haul ass. The one that just lost its arm will bleed out in a few seconds, maybe a minute. The other...maybe it doesn’t have a gun. Maybe I can outrun it. 

A shot rings out and a fist-sized hole is blown in the concrete inches ahead of my feet. Nope. It’s got a gun. Need cover. Up ahead is a recess between two buildings that I dive into, narrowly missing another shot when the corner of the building takes the bullet that would have gone between my ribs. 

I skid on my knees, turning on the spot and crouching behind the same wall that just saved my ass. Damn. This would have been a great chance for some sniping practice. Oh well. I know from watching Jack that this magnum can do plenty of damage even from a distance. Anticipating another round of fire, I risk a shoulder rather than my entire head. Sure enough, another bullet lands far off in the wall across from me. 

Kind of funny how getting shot at used to make me crawl into a corner and pray, but now it actually gives me a lot of good information. 

Like how since the first pull of the trigger, only one bullet ever came my way. And even when I was out in the open like an idiot, never more than one shot at a time. And when I offered a target, there was a delay before that one shot. So, it’s either aiming  _ really _ carefully and still missing, or it’s working with a shitty gun. Either way, all of that works in my favor. 

Understanding the circumstances, this time I peek around to get a visual. The mutant’s farther back than I thought - it raises a rifle, I duck, it fires, I lean out again. To try and get a little better focus, I close my fucked up left eye. It  _ lowers _ its gun, loading one round and cocking it. A hunting rifle? Seriously? I actually laugh out loud. After the giant mutie with the mini-gun, this guy might as well have a flag that says ‘bang’ coming out of the barrel. 

Course, that didn’t really end up the way I wanted it to, so I still want to exercise a bit of caution. It’s also gradually making its way towards me, so if I’m gonna do something, I should do it before it gets close enough to do some real damage with that rifle. During each one of its reloads, I have some time to aim properly so not a single bullet is wasted. I go through half my cylinder chipping away at the thick-ass skull of a mutant, until finally it drops its gun, shuffles forward a few more steps, falls to its knees, then lands face-first in the concrete.  

That went  _ much  _ better. Avoiding the thought of how it would have gone differently if this one also had a mini-gun, I slide down the wall and allow myself instead a moment of respite. Heart rhythm nearly back to normal, I push up and try to get a bearing on my surroundings. 

I’m not on The Mall anymore. They must have taken me down some alley or side street, away from the hub and into the clutter of the demolished city. Fucking mutants. This was supposed to be a simple run, I was  _ almost there _ . Now I’ve got to backtrack God know’s how far just to get the fucking dish. Thank Goodness for my Pip-boy - I’m not sure I’d be able to find my way back without it. 

I should have paid more attention to what direction I was going. What if the Pip-Boy had gotten broken when I was thrown? What if someone had taken it? I’d be fucked. I’m forcibly made more and more aware of all the things I used to consider part of daily life are really just afforded luxuries. Luxuries I can’t learn to rely on. 

While I have it, at least, I can get back on track. Checking the map shows me I’m actually closer to the monument, but I still have to go back and get the dish. Deciding to avoid the wide open of The Mall, I think I’ll grab the dish and slink back along towards the monument through the backstreets. Might lower my chances of encountering more muties. 

Almost an hour later, after the sun has set I finally reach the monument, I’m relieved to see the familiar armor of a Brotherhood soldier. He doesn’t see me at first, but the second he does he raises his rifle. 

I don’t mean to reach for my gun, but it’s become enough of a habit by now that I do it before I even think. Quickly correcting, I leave it in its holster and raise my hands. “Woah! Friendly!”

“Move along, civilian.” 

These guys really know how to lay on the charm, don’t they? “I’m working for Three Dog.” I say, continuing to move forward and turning a little to display the relay dish on my back. “Wants me to install this, get his signal back up.”  _ Since that’s apparently beyond your usefulness  _ \- I bite down the next thought, not wanting to piss off the guy with the bigger gun. 

The soldier eyes me for a second longer, lowers his rifle, then turns to tap a code into a console installed in the wall. “ ‘Preciate it.” I say in passing, but he’s silent as I go through the thick metal gate.

From there, it’s a ride straight up in the elevator. I half expect to find more mutants at the top - even with the Brotherhood guard out front. But no, when the doors open there’s nothing but a bunch of computer equipment, and what looks like an abandoned watch post. Empty beer bottles and bullet casings scatter the floor around a plastic chair, but no other sign of occupancy can be seen. Can’t say I’d want to be holed up here. Seems all nice and secure until there’s a security breach, and you’re up shit creek without a paddle. 

In one of the corners is some equipment reminiscent of the pieces back at GNR. Takes some finagling and a few choice words until the dish is connected. Lights flicker on, a static sound fills my ears, and the only screen produces a series of spiking waves as the signal is relayed. Mission complete. 

I turn on my heel, at first thinking of returning to GNR for the night. Food, water, a warm if not somewhat uncomfortable couch...all the same luxuries I keep taking for granted. What happens when I leave for Rivet City? Not like there’s going to be a string of five-star hotels with vacancy. I have to learn not to depend on these luxuries. 

I look around the tiny room again with more scrutiny. Near the watch point is a recess in the wall, cluttered with more of the same bottles and trash. Using my boot to kick aside the debris, I stake my claim. I stand by that I wouldn’t want to stay here long term, but it’ll do for the night. With the recent modifications to my jacket, I can’t exactly fold it over for a pillow, nor do I have my backpack. I’ll have to pick it up in the morning, but for now, I nestle in, nothing beneath my head other than the hard, uninviting floor. 

For a while I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, or the wall, or the radio equipment as I shift and turn, trying to work into any position of relative comfort. Occasionally I start to drift into unconsciousness, but am quickly jolted awake by a distant burst of gunfire, or an imagined clunk of the elevator springing open. Eventually, though, exhaustion wins over. 

Waking up in the morning, my back isn’t nearly in as much pain as I was expecting. Though slightly sore, it feels leagues better than it ever did taking a chance on fucked up couches and flat mattresses. That certainly opens up more options in the future. Now it’s back to GNR to pick up my shit, and then off through the big wide wasteland to get to Rivet City. No big deal. 

I don’t know if it’s because it’s morning, or because I already cleared something of a path on my way here, but the walk back to GNR is almost leisurely. Smashing in a few radroach heads feels as much a part of the morning ritual as drinking a cup of coffee. It’s actually...almost  _ nice _ . Crisp, still morning air, a nice walk to get my blood flowing, having a goal and a purpose. I stop for a moment to take in my surroundings. I walk amidst the ruins of a once prominent, bustling city. The center of our very nation, as I was once told. When there was law and order and every person moving about like their own little cog in a giant machine. But now it is empty, silent, solemn. Grey and ruined, abandoned, turned into jaws of a vicious monster, waiting to swallow you up at any given turn. 

And here I am, going along like I’m some pre-war dame on a literal walk in the park. Moments like this are so...conflicting. They are peaceful, somewhat enjoyable, and actually make me feel like I can have a place here. Like I don’t need a hole in the ground to hide in, like I can actually make it. And that,  _ that _ thought scares me. It terrifies me to think that I will get too complacent or cocky and walk headlong into my own death. God knows I’ve already tried. But one mistake, one breath of difference in any one of those situations... It’s so hard to fully enjoy these moments with that thought lingering in the back of my mind. I wonder if it will ever cease. 

I finally arrive at the radio station. The Behemoth, of course, is still there. What could any of us do with it? Almost every other trace of the battle, however, has been neatly cleaned away, making the gigantic corpse look almost humorously out of place. 

None of the Brotherhood even glance my way as I walk through. Heading up the stairs, I can hear Three Dog giving a theatrical speech. 

“...Loud and proud, in a special LIVE report! ‘But Three Dog! You’re in that cool radio studio in DC! How do you know I can hear you all the way out here in the ass-end of No Where?’ Because of my new friend from Vault 101, that’s how!” 

Oh, God. 

“That cat actually managed to repair our antenna relay! How’s that for ingenuity, folks?” Christ. I wait at the bottom of the stairs, not wanting to interrupt his ‘special live report’. “From here on in, it’s bye-bye stupid static, hello magnificent music! So sit back, relax, and absorb these classic tunes!” He follows it up with a public service announcement about Super Mutant activity in the central DC area, then throws on a light and bubbly pre-war track. Once I feel it’s safe, I ascend to the upper level.

“Well well well! If it isn’t the Hero of the Wasteland, returned victorious!” I offer an awkward smile. I can handle Moira’s eccentricity, but Three Dog is a whole other level of Diva I don’t know what to do with. “Now GNR can be heard clear across the Capitol Wasteland. That’ll give Eden and those mules something to think about.” 

“Eden?”

“Yeah, y’know, ‘President’ Eden and his Enclave radio.” He says with air quotes, and my jaw drops. 

“ _ President _ ? There’s a  _ president _ ?!” 

“Well, in title only.” His tone is dismissive and sardonic. “No one’s ever seen the guy, all we ever hear of him is whatever old, recycled patriotic nonsense he spews over that his radio channel.” 

There’s a president and he’s got his own  _ radio channel? _ How did I miss this?! “I uh...” My mind fills with questions, but they’re erased as Three Dog strikes up a new bewildering suggestion. 

“Hey now, since you’re still around, how would you feel about a live interview? Can talk about what it was like in the vault, leaving the vault, your experience getting used to the Wasteland.” Oh, yeah, great, everything I never want to think about again. I try to think of how to turn him down politely when he says one more thing. “Maybe send out a message to your old man, see if you can’t catch up a little?” 

My breath catches in my throat. Of course...GNR’s signal reaches  _ all over _ the Wasteland. Wherever he is, whether he’s still in Rivet City or elsewhere... I run through the fantasy in my mind, telling him that I’m out here looking for him, that I’m okay (well, mostly) and on my way to find him. He overhears it, maybe at dinner or just in passing, and he drops all his plans to wait for me, stays put long enough until we’re reunited again. 

But then, another scenario plays. I deliver my message, that I’m looking for him, and he doesn’t stay put. He didn’t want me to come after him, he wanted me to stay in the vault, “where it’s safe”. He comes looking for me. We miss each other, he gets run down by super mutants - I can’t even finish the thought. 

“N-no.” Three Dog deflates, a little confused. A second ago my face had lit up, maybe I even smiled, only to reject the idea. “No, I don’t...I don’t want him coming to look for me. Especially if he’s somewhere safe, I’d rather he just. Stay there, until I can get to him.” 

“Couldn’t you tell him that? Make it part of your message! Let him know that you’re out here, kickin ass and taking names and he’s gotta stay put so you can find him.” 

I smirk. “Yeah, well, he told me to stay put in the Vault, and look how that turned out.” 

He smiles listlessly. “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?” 

“Heh. No, it doesn’t. I really - I just came by to grab my stuff, and I’m gonna head right out. See if I can’t still catch him at Rivet City. With, uh...what was her name?” 

“Li - Doctor Li. She should be easy enough to track down. Alright, kid. You take care out there. Ever need a place to crash, you can always duck in here. I’d be glad to provide.”

I nod in thanks, grab my pack from where I left it the night before, and head out. About half an hour later I stop to crack open a can of beans for breakfast, eating as I walk. I figure it’ll be easier to just drop the can for my gun instead of trying to scramble to my feet, grab my bag and get to cover. 

Following Three Dog’s instructions, I cut through to the edge of the city, avoiding the main roads as much as possible until I reach the river. From there, he said, follow it south to Rivet City. Can’t miss it, he said. 

I make it a few miles south without encountering too much. I manage to bypass what might have been a super mutant camp by clambering along jagged boulders on the riverbank. It’s far off from the makeshift metal walls and barbed wire, plus offers some pretty decent cover. I make it by mostly unharmed, except for when my fucking calf gave out and I nearly took a dive. As I slipped, a part of the rock dug into my shin, leaving a nice bright red gash beneath my kneecap. It wasn’t deep, just long, so once I passed the rocks I stopped to wrap it up with a scrap piece of cloth, if only to prevent infection. 

A little while after that, as I make to pass underneath a giant bridge over the river, I see someone else camped out beneath it. I pause, drawing my magnum. It looks like there’s only one of them. Every raider or merc out for my head has traveled in a group, except for the sniper. I look up to the bridge and scan my surroundings - there’s a couple of good perches, no doubt. And if they were interested in killing me, they would certainly have by now. The person beneath the bridge sits next to a fire, chowing down on something I can’t see from here. Assuming that ‘something’ isn’t a human arm, I feel fairly confident approaching. 

“Hey there!” I call from a fair distance away. The person startles, a hand immediately going to their hip. My grip tightens, but soon the same hand reaches up in a greeting instead. 

“Hello!” The person, a man, watches carefully as I approach, pausing his meal and resting his free hand in his lap as a precaution. 

“You all alone out here?” I ask with slight surprise that anyone would be as crazy as me to travel around alone. I worry that it might come off as a threat or otherwise menacingly, but he responds promptly. 

“Can’t afford to travel with a caravan. Gotta just try and sell my wares when I can.” 

“You’re a trader?” I say, finally close enough we can speak normally. I holster my magnum, and he takes a hold of his kabob with both hands to continue eating. On his other side rests a large pack, lumpy and loaded to the brim with stuff. 

“Scavenger, trader, wastelander. Whatever floats your boat.” Looking at the kabob, my stomach tightens. 

“Mind if I join you?” 

He gestures to a patch of ground. Swinging my pack around, I dig for a bag of jerky I stashed away, watching the fire disinterestedly as I eat. I wonder what Jack might say, watching me drop my guard to share a meal with a complete stranger. I’m not sure why I did it, but thinking about it, I think it’s simply for the sake of some friendly companionship, even if for just a few moments. 

“Got anything to get off your hands?” He asks. “If you got any medical supplies you’d be willin to part with, you’ll have your pick of whatever I got.” 

I take an extra moment to chew on my piece of jerky, concocting a reply. “Sorry man, all’s I’ve got is two stimpaks to last me to Rivet City. Gonna wanna hold on to those.” It’s a bold faced lie, but I’m not so desperate for company I’m about to admit I’ve got a mobile hospital in my pack. I still don’t know this guy or what his motives might be.

“Yeah, I figured as much. Stuff like that’s real hard to come by out this way. Rivet City, huh? What’s out there?”

The word ‘family’ catches on my tongue. “Work. I’m not one for a lot of traveling and Megaton don’t have a lot to offer in the ways of pay. Figure Rivet City’s gotta have a little more opportunity.” 

“Yeah, you’re not wrong there. Plus, that kinda security? Real nice set up if you don’t mind the crowd.”

“No doubt.” I passively agree, not wanting him to know how little experience I have and potentially make myself a target. “That why you roam around out here?” 

“Yeah, I grew up in Little Lamplight. Had my fill o’ bein’ stuck inside with people I couldn’t stand every fuckin’ day. Need the breathin’ room.” 

“Little Lamplight?” Shit. Might’ve just given myself away on that one. 

“Yeah, it’s a - y’know Big Town?” I nod - first truth I’ve told so far. “ It’s a bit south-west of there. S’a cavern, runs deep into the mountain side. Bunch o’ kids live there, escaped from Paradise Falls or otherwise abandoned. Somethin of a safe haven for kids - no adults allowed. Once y’turn 16, y’get the boot and gotta go make your way in the world on your own. Most of em end up just goin to Big Town, but some of us -” he shrugs. “Some of us go a little further.” 

“Huh...wow, that’s. A community of kids. Hah! That’s really something.” I shake my head, playing off my utter discomfort as amusement. Kids? Actual, little kids, living completely by themselves inside a mountain? You really don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone. I’ve been spoiled by the Vault. 

“Well,” I stand a little shakily, my bum leg protesting against moving again. “I better get goin. Hopin to make it before it gets too dark.” 

He nods, tapping his forehead in faux salute. “Take care, stranger. Thanks for the company.” 

“Likewise.” I walk away, half-expecting to get shot in the back with every step further. But it never comes. I’ve crested and descended a small hill by the time I finally start to relax. Could that really have been just a genuine, honest exchange between two passing strangers? I’m chosing to think so. I need to believe moments like that can still happen, even all the way out here. 

A ways further down the river, passing by some high-rise buildings with thick concrete pillars on my left, things finally get interesting. Much further ahead to the south, I catch the movement of a solo super mutant, wandering up the boardwalk. Just one? No way. Too easy. But how to fish the rest of them out without getting gutted? Not much I can do in the way of stealth. Definitely not trying the knife-in-the-neck move again. This might be a good opportunity to try something. 

Sticking to the shadows, I slip towards the far corner of the building, closing some distance between the super mutant and myself. Then, for the first time with the intent of actually using it, I draw the sniper rifle. The one that, last used, had almost done me in. Positioning myself comfortably, I press my good eye into the scope. There’s a lot of tick marks and dots I don’t understand, and I’m starting to realize what a bad idea this is. But, it’s only one - so far - and I’m in decent cover. And I’ll have to learn how to use it at some point. No time like the present. 

I aim the crosshairs over the mutants head. It lumbers forward, backward, stops, scratches its side, and slumps its shoulders like...almost like it’s  _ bored _ . It starts to walk away again, I follow it with my crosshairs, and when it finally stops, I pull the trigger. Despite bracing against my shoulder, the rifle butts more than I expect it to and slams into me, and I  _ miss _ . The bullet shoots right over the things head - it’s surrounded by concrete, all of it untouched. Shit. It turns around, the echo of the shot coming from every direction. 

Precious seconds. I adjust, lower, to the right. Push my shoulder into the stock, brace, fire. Miss. Fuck. Higher, to the left. Miss. Fuck! It’s coming towards me now. Slightly to the right. Fire, miss,  _ goddamnit! _  Okay, this isn’t working and it’s fucking gaining ground. I drop the rifle, draw my magnum, and wait until it comes within range. It raises its hunting rifle, I fire my first shot into its face. It falters with shock and, screaming, steps forward, wobbling like a baby before my second shot tears the back of its skull open, and it finally topples. 

Not two seconds after it hits the ground, bullets dig into the east side of the concrete pillar I crouch beside, inches from my face. I fall backwards from the shock, immediately scrambling to the west side of the pillar, placing it between myself and the bullets. Several shots at once dig into the ground around me, with wide distances between each shot. Rapid, but inaccurate fire. SMG? I inch out, attempting to get a visual on my attackers. On the southeastern part of the street, almost caddy-corner to where I’m pinned down, on the second level of the two story building is a pair of muties, both of their attentions on me. 

I dip back into cover as they open fire again. They’re too far for my magnum - do I try to close the distance? Lure them out? Sneak up behind them? My eyes fall on the rifle. I glance back out - from the same position as before, they continue shooting. Shifting my weight, I scuttle around to the southernmost side of my cover, and lean out from there. Between the pillar and the angle of the building, there’s a narrow line of sight to where the mutants are. I can see at least one of them from here, waiting for me to poke my head back out for another try. I stare at the rifle for another second, then hoping to keep them situated, pop back out briefly enough that they keep shooting. 

Before I line up my shot, I pull a couple grenades from my pack. Mines would have been better, but at the time I felt they took up too much space. I retrace my steps, going a bit more north up the river to set a booby trap at the other end of the building. Using some thread, I set up a trip wire so that anything that comes around the corner will pull the pins and get blasted before they can get to me - hopefully. 

That done, I take up position behind my trusty pillar. When I peek out, the mutants are moving further into the building. Shit. Did they give up? Or are they just coming down? Quickly, I grab the rifle and press it into my shoulder, waiting to scope until I know when they’re coming from. A few seconds later, heart in my throat, they come straight out the front doors. 

This time when I line up my shot, I go by the second dash under the crosshair, instead of the exact center. Aim a little ahead, and when the mutant walks into the line of fire - and I fucking miss  _ again _ ! But counter to before, the bullet lands in the building they just emerge from, giving me a margin of error to work with. It raises its gun, sweeping back and forth as it looks for me. I adjust, fire - miss. It spots me, and starts shooting. Adjust, fire -  _ hit! _ The force of the bullet knocks the mutant backwards, almost off its feet but it remains upright. The second mutant, just behind the first, opens fire, and I have to duck behind cover to avoid the shower of bullets. It’s spray is still sporadic at best, but that won’t be so for long. As soon as there’s a break in the rapidfire, I swoop back out again. 

While the second mutant reloads its mag, the first stands almost completely still, swaying on the spot and seemingly dazed from half it’s fucking face being blown off. I line up my shot again, fire, miss,  _ goddamnit, _ fire, BAM! Its head turns into a nice burst of red. 

The second howls with fury, but when it attempts to fire again, nothing happens. It shouts and starts banging on it - either it got jammed, or it reloaded the gun too forcefully and broke it. Doesn’t matter to me. Positioning the crosshairs in as much the same manner as before as I can, I pull the trigger and -  _ click _ . 

FUCK!

I turn to my backpack, realizing that in this moment of utter panic I have no idea which pocket the .308’s are in. I glance back at the mutant. Its given up the SMG for a bad job and picked up a piece of rebar with a chunk of concrete to match my head on the other end. Fuck it. I got one of them with the rifle, that’s good enough for me. 

It runs forward, lifting the makeshift hammer over its head and screaming with anger. Practiced with my magnum, it only takes three shots to stop the mutant from coming within swinging distance. I wait for any others to announce themselves, and when none come, I dismantle my booby trap and carry on. It doesn’t take long for the adrenaline to die down. Just another day in the life. 

Not too long after that, I make some distance away from the actual heart of the city, into a more suburban area. Sticking to the riverbank gets a little trickier as roads and sidewalks die away, petering off into wet sand and rock. Finally, I think I spot it, a gigantic building jutting out into the river. I divert off the path, down onto a tiny dock to get a better look. Square, surrounded by pillars with a large dome - what else could it be? But how to get there...

Returning to the sidewalk, continue on, looking for some kind of bridge or sideroad. I stick mostly to the rocky shoreline, putting enough distance between the buildings on my left, and the sharp incline into the river on my right, to give myself some space to maneuver should a situation arise. 

Eventually, the sidewalk descends into a sort of scenic viewpoint for pedestrian foot traffic. A  concrete semi-circle spreads over the riverbed, rusted metal benches wrap around dead and blackened tree trunks, busted streetlamps stand at intervals along a short concrete barrier. The building, just on the other side of the river, is surrounded by scaffolding like it’s under some kind of construction, only there’s no workers. No fences, no additions, nothing that looks out of place from the building itself if not for the very scaffolding. 

Standing below the main street and overlooking the river, I spot a small patch of land, spreading from my side of the river to join with the foundation of what must be Rivet City. Rather than take the stairs back up to the road, I hop over the half-wall and continue along the riverbed. 

The road above curves downward to meet with my own trajectory, blocked only by a large boulder. Just as I climb over it -  _ woah _ .

Yeah, no. Whatever that building was, it can’t have been Rivet City. “You’ll know it when you see it”, Three Dog said, and as I join the main road and see the gargantuan ship beached on the harbor, there’s not a trace of doubt in my mind. How had everyone failed to mention to me that it was a freakin  _ aircraft carrier _ ?! 

Suddenly there’s gunfire to my left - I pivot to face it and my leg gives, along with the loose gravel beneath it, sending me sliding down the steep hill to the river bed. I manage to claw to a stop before plunging into the river. Fucking  _ ow _ . Dizzy, slight ringing in the ears. Grab for my magnum - a silhouette rises over the hill, aim, three pulls of the trigger. Roll out of the way as the body tumbles down straight into the water. Leather straps, spikes, bare torso - A raider? Shit. Where there’s one, there’s bound to be at least a few more. 

Surely enough, two more are waiting for me back at the top of the hill. After days of supermutants, a couple runt raiders are as insignificant as molerats. Barely a few moments distraction from my route. A few minutes after that, I find myself at the base of a long metal ramp underneath a sign with a cutout that reads RIVET CITY. My leg is in so much pain, I can’t fight a heavy limp as I inch up the ramp, then over the platform that leads to a bridge, and then across the bridge. At the other end, I’m stopped by a tall, classically handsome, clean-cut security guard decked in armor and with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Hold it. Before I can grant you entry, you must state your business in Rivet City.”

For a second, and only a second, I consider lying. Tell him I’m here for work. But something against logic, something in my gut says to go with the truth. “I’m looking for - someone.” Well, most of the truth. He doesn’t need to know the specifics. 

“Hm. Rivet City’s a big place. Sure they’re here?” 

I sigh. “No. But word has it he’s here, so...” I shrug, and drop my shoulders. “I’m here, too.” 

The guard looks me over head to toe, pausing on my favored leg, then tilts his head. “Alright. Go on in, then. And stay out of trouble, hear me?” 

I nod. “Loud and clear.” He steps aside, allowing me access to the hatch door that leads into the city. 


	8. Chapter 8

Rivet City’s inside, just like the outside, is almost incomprehensibly large. This single deck spans so far it nearly fades to a fog, and is packed wall-to-wall with tents, booths, shanties, trolleys, carts...a true, thriving market unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The longer I walk, the more lost I get. And I’d thought Megaton had been a Labyrinth! I can barely even tell which direction I’m walking. If not for cluttered street signs, pointing in all directions towards all kinds of locations, I’m pretty sure I’d die here. 

The more I walk, the harder I have to fight to ignore the mounting pain in my leg. What starts as feeling like an overworked muscle quickly degrades into something like a railroad spike going straight through my calf. It’s only when I realize I’m grinding my teeth do I finally concede, and fall onto a nearby stool. 

“Hey!” Barks a sharp voice belonging to an asian man behind the counter, an overly large pot steaming behind him. “No loitering! I’m tryin’a run a business here!” 

The price of a meal is well worth the convenience of a moment's respite. Shifting in my seat, I scan over the menu posted behind him. Large, white painted letters spell out “PHO” on what appears to be an old highway sign, more painted text overshadowing wherever it lead to once before. “Uhh...” Half of the menu I’m not sure I could  _ pronounce _ , much less identify. “Steak, I guess. Please.” Can never go wrong with steak. He sniffs at me, possibly annoyed at my impertinence, but a customer is a customer. 

He pulls various supplies from cupboards and hidden nooks, tossing them all into a single bowl, and tops it off with several large ladles from the steaming pot. “Fifteen.” He says, setting the...soup? Down before me. It’s a steep price compared to Megaton, but the aroma coming off the broth is downright intoxicating. I’d be ready to pay twice that after just getting a whiff. I count out my caps, and he hands me a fork and a deep spoon with a short handle. 

I’d forgotten the instantaneous comfort gained from a hot meal filling the belly. The broth is rich, the noodles light, every ingredient balancing out the other and creating what can only be considered a masterpiece. A low bar, to be fair, compared to skewers I’ve been basing my diet around lately. But goddamn is this good. I hum with appreciation and slurp up the broth eagerly, and though my attention is focused solely on the food, I’m pretty sure I can see the shopkeepers chest swell ever so slightly. 

 

Just a chance to get off my feet was all I needed, and on top of that I now have a sense of renewed vigor that always follows a hearty meal. I drop some extra caps on the counter and continue on, trying my best to navigate through the clustered thoroughfare on ground level. 

It’s hard not to think of this place as some kind of Fae realm from old fantasy novels. Every direction offers new temptations in food, trinkets, gear, oddities and curios, bobbles, homewares, personal hygiene...etcetera, etcetera. I stop at one stall and buy a replacement knife for the one I’d broken while attempting to stab a super mutant to death. This one is bigger, sharper, and tougher than that old piece of shit ever was. But, just in case, I buy a second knife. Smaller than the first, still larger than my last. Good enough to endure the day to day, allowing me to reserve the Rambo knife for the really serious shit. Man, once I’m done with this fucking goose chase, I gotta just spend a day down here just to see everything.

Northwest corner of the market, there’s a staircase that leads to the middle deck. Down a long hallway, past a hotel, through another door on the left. Every T-intersection offers stencil-painted signs, guiding the way towards hotels, clinics, districts, and what I need - the science lab.

It’s impossible to tell what this space might have been used for when the structure was still an aircraft carrier. Machines, servers, screens, chem sets, centrifuges, marker boards, and all other manner of science-y things absolutely clutter the space. Pipes line the walls and ceiling, so constructed that I can’t tell if they’re original to the ship or not. An array of people in white lab coats float around, writing on clipboards and tinkering with beakers. Not a one of them even notices me standing there in the middle of the room.

“Excuse me?” I hover near a man scribbling on a chart. He only grunts in acknowledgment, his focus unbroken. “...Uh, I’m looking for a Doctor Li?” He continues writing for a minute, pauses, writes one more thing then looks up. He scans the room with the rigidity of a periscope, gestures vaguely behind me, and keeps writing. Y’know, after crawling all over the wasteland to get here, the hospitality is really moving. 

It takes a minute, but eventually I spot a woman with a black bun standing next to a long table, cluttered with griffin beakers, Erlenmeyer and boiling flasks full of different colored liquids, some bubbling away as she pours over a thick set of notes. 

“Excuse me, Doctor Li?” 

“Yes?” She asks curtly. When she finally breaks her attention, she gives me A Look. I know That Look. “My heavens...” She mutters, breathlessly as all the others. 

“Yep, it’s me.” I say before she can. “I’m sure you can guess why I’m here.” Her brow creases. Guess I got that one wrong. “I’m looking for my dad.” 

She flinches slightly in surprised confusion. “You -? I assumed he was the one who sent you here. But, wait, aren’t you supposed to be in the vault? James said--” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not. I’m here, trying to find him.” 

“I’m sorry to say, he’s - “ 

I nod impatiently, hurrying along the conversation I’ve already had too many fucking times. “He’s not here. I kinda figured. Do you know where he’s gone off to this time?” I don’t mean to be snippy with her, but this shit got real old real fast.

“He insisted that we continue work on Project Purity.” She says with a tone of assumption that I have any idea what that means. “I tried telling him too much time has passed, but predictably, he refused to listen - the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it would seem.” I can’t tell if she’s teasing, or scolding. “Said he can prove it still works and headed off to the old lab in the Jefferson Memorial building. Bit Northwest of here.” Bingo. “I suppose there’s no use in telling you not to go?” 

“Nope.” I turn on the spot. 

“Wait -” She steps forward, a hand outstretched. It’s strikingly...sentimental, for someone who has been so cold so far. “Listen. Your father - I worked with your parents, years ago. When your mother died, your father abandoned the entire project, all of our work, our accomplishments, our goals... all to keep you safe.” 

“Oh please, spare me.” I snap. “If he’s so worried about my safety, he shouldn’t have gone gallivanting off without so much as a goodbye. Save me the lecture, I’m tired of hearing -” 

“This isn’t about  _ you _ .” She barks, stunning me into silence. “If you want to be as reckless and stubborn as he is and go galavanting after him, fine. But if you die out there taking the same risks and making the same, stupid mistakes, we’ll have lost  _ everything _ , all that we worked for, all the progress we made, for  _ nothing _ . Do not make a life that cost so much to protect into something so trivial.”

For the next few seconds, I can only blink stupidly. In her own way, I suppose, she’s telling me to be careful, but there’s more than that. After fighting my way out of the vault, risking my life,  _ killing _ so much it became natural, it had never occurred to me for a second that I was being  _ selfish _ . All I’ve ever thought about is the prices I’ve had to pay to get as far as I have. I never even considered what my life had cost to begin with.

There’s a strange, quiet lull while I process this information.

“Can you...tell me about this, Project Purity? What it was?” She seems surprised again. I don’t know what she expected, but apparently it wasn’t amiable curiosity. 

“I...suppose. It was simple, really, in concept. Fresh, clean water for everyone. Simple, but impossible to realize. The original plan was to construct a facility that could handle mass purification for the water in the Tidal Basin all at once. No radiation, no debris, just...clean water. We understood the basic principles well enough, and the science behind them. But the radiation in the area was  _ so _ pervasive. Despite all our small-scale efforts working flawlessly, it just came to be too much on the full scale.” 

I nod slowly, following the progression. “Then I... _ happened _ , dad left, and it all went to shit, right?” 

She seems to soften a little. “In perfect fairness, we had more problems than we could handle already. But your mother dying, I think, is what really pushed James over the edge. He just...gave up. I know he wanted to keep you safe, but I think part of what he did was run away.” 

Her tone is soft, and her words not unkind, but it hits me like a slap in the face. He left them, all of them, and everything he’d worked for, because he was afraid? That’s so... _ counter _ to everything I know of him. Or, at least, my image of him. 

It’s my fault, really. He never did talk about mom much. But when he did, he was practically starstruck. And I...I took her away from him. If not for me...

“But, if he made it to the Memorial - If you find him...” She doesn’t have to finish the thought. It’s more of a feeling, deep in our guts, that couldn’t accurately be put into words. And there it is. That next tiny glimmer of hope, like a single, distant star in the sky. Giving just enough light to make me think I can grasp it, only to dwindle out as soon as I close my fingers around it. I don't want to believe it this time. From everything I've seen so far, I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. If I don't believe in at least that much, what else is there to keep me going? 

Keeping her words close to heart, I head right back out the way I came. 

  
  
  


Y’know, I can’t even remember how many people warned me that DC was crawling with super mutants. Everyone and their mother who heard I was going into the city told me it was chock full of em, and just thinking about it was goddamn terrifying. 

But now? Now it’s just goddamn  _ annoying _ .

I can’t walk two feet without tripping over one. Glad I restocked on ammo before leaving Rivet City. At the same time, it’s kind of interesting to observe them. Like some bizarre nature documentary. The differences between those who have armor or guns, and those who don’t, and why.

_ And here we see the super mutant brute, distinguishable from its less-intelligent cousin by its implementation of makeshift armor. Note its massive arms and dim-witted expression, making it a tricky, but easy target for anyone with a double-digit IQ. Fascinating. _

When the foggy, dome-topped pillars finally draw near, it’s different than the rest of the city. Less damaged and decomposed, more...industrial. Pipes, ladders and metal walkways surround the building, leading to and away from it. I pick off a runt mutant before heading up a ramp that starts around the back of the building, just near the bay. 

There’s another waiting for me at the top, a few meters away. I keep my pace, quickly walking forward. By the time it notices me and starts to draw its weapon, I’ve already got the perfect angle to cave in its face. Another hears the gunfire and the shout of its companion and comes barrelling forward, a large hammer drawn to be swung. I hold my position, waiting for the last moment before diving to the side. Its hammer crashes through the metal railing like it was aluminum, but in the few seconds it takes to correct, I’m given the perfect angle to sever its brainstem. It falls forward, and I have to scramble to avoid going with it as its body slides over the side and lands down below. 

I follow the curve of the man-made walkway around the side of the building. Two more mutants cross my path, two more kills added to my tally. Despite just having bought several boxes worth of ammo, I’m burning through it faster than I expected, and I’m not even inside the building yet. I have to be quick, clever, and lucky.

Soon, I come upon another ramp that descends back to the ground. Overeager, I jog down it and realize too late another mutant waits ahead. I’m too slow to duck behind a chunk of boulder, and it catches me in the corner of its eye. It’s got a plank of wood wrapped in barbed wire strapped to its back, and tire over its shoulder, like a vulgar sash of lord hood. Can’t get to the neck from here. Kneecap it is.

Two shots completely shatter the patella, but its cruciate ligaments hold strong, enabling it to charge forward. Two more shots take care of the anterior ligament, and it stumbles. “Ahh! Leg! HURT!” It screams, and for a split second, God help me, I actually feel bad. I’d forgotten, or maybe even repressed, that they  _ are  _ living things, capable of pain. What other emotions are they,  _ could _ they be capable of...? Fuck, whatever. Currently, this one is capable of killing me, so I’ll have to take a rain-check on the pity party. Another shot tears one of the collaterals, and now it doesn’t matter if it can feel the pain or not. The knee can’t sustain its weight, and the mutant is forced to a crawl. 

Before I can line up my next shot, BAM! Something hits my back and I slam my forehead against the rock. My body slumps and falls to the side, momentarily dazed, and another bullet whizzes past, chipping away a chunk of the boulder exactly where I’d been just a second ago.

That was  _ way _ too fucking close.

I feel something warm slither down my forehead. Shit. Blood spreads over my right eyelid, forcing it closed and leaving me disoriented, relying on the compromised vision of my left eye. There's a ringing in my ears and it feels like someone's just going to town on my head with a lead pipe. I can't...can't focus. Can't land a precision shot. And can't waste too much more ammo. Fuck. I’m reminded of Jack’s warning when I poured an entire clip into merc body armor. Jesus, I was stupid. It’s any wonder how I’m still alive.

Doesn’t matter, I won’t be for long if I don’t figure out something fast. The one with the gun becomes my new target. Lucky me, it’s a hunting rifle. I’ve got two shots left before I have to reload. Not enough to kill or disable. But maybe enough to barter for an opportunity. 

While the mutant fumbles to reload its rifle, my arms waver as I try to aim. Or, maybe my arms are fine and it's the rest of me that's rocking on the spot. I mean to shoot its bicep and sever the brachial artery. Instead, its fingers burst in a bright red splash and it drops the rifle. Sure. That’ll work. I try again, still hoping to just bleed it out. As it leans down for its weapon, my bullet goes straight into one of its eyes. It throws itself backward, one hand and one stubby palm groping at its howling face. 

God _ damnit _ . The ringing in my ears goes up a decibel. Alright, I'm fucking useless with this gun right now. Time to just finish this. I launch forward, sprinting drunkenly just past the hulking figure, turn on the spot, draw my big knife, and jump. The blade buries deep in its nape, almost down to the hilt. Its screams peter out like a broken holotape, and it falls. 

...Oh  _ HELL  _ yeah! That was fucking awesome! Oh man, if only Jack coulda seen that, he'd...! Shit. My vision fades out briefly and I fall to a knee. Maybe running full bore immediately after headbutting a fucking boulder wasn’t the best decision I’ve ever made. Fuck, still bleeding. How deep is - ?

The other mutant hollers with rage. Right. Forgot about that one. Despite being severely injured, it inches ever closer. I could try to reload, but I have a feeling half the bullets would just end up dropped on the ground. For whatever it's worth, I pick up the hunting rifle.

It closes in. I raise the barrel, finger on the trigger, measuring my breaths. The mutant is right in front of me. It raises its pointy wood planks and hollars a preemptive victory screech. A gentle squeeze of the trigger sends the bullet straight through its hard palate and out the top of its head. It wavers, and for a split second I think it might have just enough momentum to swing the thing down onto my squishy little head anyway, but instead it drops as the body falls backwards. Phew.

Now that I have a fuckin minute to do so, I assess the damage. Deep cut, might need a couple stitches. A few cc’s from a stimpak to stop the bleeding, some gauze and elastic tape to hold it in place. The lead-pipe feeling has regressed to something more like a baseball bat, so that’s...good, I guess. Not much to be done about it in any case besides just fucking dealing with it. Finally I make it to the door, glancing at the metal “GIFT SHOP” sign hanging just beside it.

The floor is free of the usual clutter and debris found in every other barely-intact structure scattered throughout the wasteland, but old wallpaper and residue still seethes out of the walls, like skin sloughing off a corpse. My footsteps echo down the empty halls like a fading heartbeat, too weak to sustain life but unwilling to let go. 

More mutants gradually appear, some alone, others in pairs. The choreography changes, but the soundtrack continues playing the never ending struggle for survival. Gunshots, shouts, thundering charges, dying gurgles. 

Eventually, as it always must, silence settles comfortably back into place. I sift through corridors and crannies, looking for any salvage I can carry with me. I recognize the same equipment from Rivet City scattered around, but these are dusty, dark, abandoned. There’s a solemness in the air that I can’t manage to shake from my shoulders. When the main floor produces little more than decrepit relics, I follow signs towards the basement. 

 

It’s a many long series of steps down to the sub-level. Once I’m down there, I’m reminded sharply of the vault, below the civilian quarters. Pumps, pipes, computers, monitors. It feels...not quite like home. The vault hasn’t been my home for a while. When I think of home, I think of Megaton and my own scrap of land, carved out of the city’s whole. No, this place, even memories of the vault are like...deja vu in a dream. I’ve been here before, someplace familiar and foreign, and some part of the back of my brain knows what happens next, but I can’t remember. I have to discover it all over again. 

After some more rounds of Rock-Em-Sock-Em Super Mutants, besides the sounds of combat, I don’t hear anything. No voices calling for help, fists pounding on locked doors. If anyone was here, they’re not anymore; of their own accord or otherwise. 

Delving further into the depths, I scan through various rooms and broom closets, searching for any extra ammo or caps and finding nothing but junk and empty footlockers. Pretty soon I shift to autopilot, my brain sort of fading away as my body works through the lower hallways, so that if someone were to suddenly ask my name, I don’t know that I could answer right away. 

I wish Jack was here. I’ve denied admitting it to myself since I left GNR, but I don’t mind admitting it now. It’s lonely. And it’d have been nice to have any help with all the fucking mutants around here. If I had someone watching my dumbass back, my head might not feel like a subwoofer now. And...well, dammit if I don’t just enjoy his company. All the entertainment I get out of a day is seeing how much I can piss him off in one go. 

It’d be nice having someone just to talk to, or even just...I don’t know. Just  _ be _ here, so I can be sure this entire thing isn’t just a dream, or hallucination. Maybe I passed out when I hit the rock and now I’m dead. Endless metal hallways that go on forever and ever seem like a pretty fitting Hell.

Lost in these thoughts, I open another door at the end of another hallway, expecting another janitor’s closet. I get a shock when instead, I find a small, cosy bedroom. My brain, like a distracted dog finally hearing the whistle of its owner, comes bounding back into my skull. This  _ has _ to be it! The lamp next to the bed is still lit, and on the table across the room is a computer, piles of scattered notes, empty coffee cups, and...holotapes! Four, to be exact, each one labelled by date. Whether it’s by habit, survival instinct, or a misplaced sense of privacy, I shut the door and I sit on the bed, starting with the oldest and working my way forward.

This must have been the first one he recorded when he returned. He reminisces on Vault 101, and in unison I recite out loud his old, broken mantra of “it’s not perfect, but it’s safe”. I smile a little. I may have held more reverence for it if I’d ever thought of it applying to him, too. He mentions me by name, and I brace for the impending criticism of my attitude, recklessness, behavioral problems, or how troublesome I’ve always been. Instead, he...he  _ praises _ me, says I am intelligent, confident, beautiful. Before I can even recover from that, he says some line about not needing him anymore.

And suddenly, without warning, I’m six years old again, waking up in the middle of the night and finding his bed empty, sitting alone, in the dark, wanting nothing more in the entire world than for my dad to come home and hold me in his arms.  _ Of  _ **_course_ ** _ I still need you... _ Minutes ago I could barely remember who I was, and now I am helpless against my own memories. After a minute, I fumble entering the next tape.

He talks about changing the world and the waters of life, that old bible verse he had framed in his office. His ambition renewed, passions ablaze...but after talking with Dr. Li, even I’m unconvinced of its plausibility. Clean water for the entire wasteland? Did he have blinders on as he bounced around from place to place? He was always a kind man. Could never stand to see anyone suffer. Even saw the best in Butch when the rest of us didn’t bother looking twice. Perhaps it all just pushed him to the other end of the spectrum into denial. 

The next two tapes are just research notations. Getting power running, necessary next steps, talking with Dr. Li and her imminent rebuke. No hint of what else he needs, or where he might have gone to get it. I sit on the bed for a short while longer, looking over the yellowed sheets and thin, flat pillow. In desperation I sink into it, hoping he was here recently enough, or long enough that maybe some of him still lingers in the fabric. I breathe in deep, and am mostly rewarded with the smell of dirt, rust, old cotton...and just the faintest whiff of his pomade. I let myself slip into the same fantasy of being back in the vault...of being  _ home _ , with him and Jonas, the three of us together, happy...safe...

I roll my head away from the pillow so as to not ruin what is left of him with my tears, and spot in the corner of the room a smaller table I hadn’t seen before. An empty glass, and far more empty bottles of scotch and whiskey litter the floor around it. On top, one more holotape. Leaping to my feet, I pray that this will be what I need. 

My heart drops when I hear a woman’s voice I don’t recognize. An assistant maybe? Was dad able to snatch one of Dr. Li’s team members to help him after all? Suddenly she giggles, calling dad by his first name and I am deeply disturbed, on multiple levels. Surely, he wouldn’t...not after leaving us behind like that...? To be forgotten so easily? She continues with her notes, and shortly starts laughing flirtatiously again. I stop the tape, yanking it out to throw across the room when I spot the date; it’s over _twenty_ _years_ old. Then this...that voice...

“...Mom?” 

I don’t know how much time passes as I stare at the cassette. I slump into the chair just beside me and play it again. Her voice is...higher than I expected. Mine, I’ve always felt, was so deep for a woman. I always wondered if I’d gotten it from her, if she had a smooth, sultry voice of an old jazz singer, or a low, raspy one of someone who’d smoked too much in her youth. Somehow it was easier. Easier to just pretend. 

This holotape...it makes it real. Makes  _ her _ real. Before, she had only been left to my own imagination. She was something ethereal and fantastic, a character from a story book. ...I take it back. I’m really,  _ really _ glad Jack isn’t here. I want him to think I’m strong, immovable. I don’t want him, or anyone, to see how quickly I can be demolished by a fucking holotape. 

I play it again, stopping it when it gets about halfway through to the giggles. Cause, I mean...ew. But I like hearing her voice, even if it’s just the same simple sentences over and over again. In some fuckin way, it kind of helps bring her into focus. I’d never really missed her before. How could I? I never even met her. She died right after I was born. I can’t even dig through the recesses of my brain for any early memories of her. I’ve had nothing.

What’s more, I had Jonas. They never said it, at least while I was around, but I know they loved each other. He was as much a parent to me as James was. I never even felt like I’d been missing anything. But now, as I listen again and again, I start to grasp what I was really robbed of. 

Without disrespect to Jonas’ memory, or what he meant to both of us, I long for this person I could have known, this relationship I could have had. Who she was, who she might have been, who WE might have been together if she had lived. What I have missed all these years because of her absence. What I always thought I had come to terms with, I now have to confront all over again. Or, perhaps more aptly, for the first time. 

I wish Dad was here. He was right, I should have just stayed locked up in the vault with my head up my ass until I died. Real life fucking sucks. The rest of the holotapes I leave behind, but this one I slip into my coat pocket. 

Two full circles around the sublevel is when I decide I’ve probably found everything worth finding. Stepping over pools of mutant blood and corpses as if they were inconveniently placed garden fencing, I head back up the stairs. My head is fucking killing me, I’ve gone through most of my ammo, had heaps of deeply repressed emotional shit ripped up and thrown in my face, and I  _ still _ don’t have a single lead. Fuck this entire day.

Back near the main entrance, I notice a sign I hadn’t before. Fancier than the others, inscribed on what looks like a bronze plaque; “Rotunda”. A force somewhere around the base of my spine drives me that direction. 

Beside the door, a computer hums idly on the wall. Tugging lightly on the handle confirms what I suspected; locked. Opening the command prompt, I quickly type in the usual workarounds, only to be greeted with the unusual [ACCESS DENIED, ENTER PASSWORD]. I try a few different, more advanced commands, but to no avail. Fine. Guess I’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Staring hard into the screen, my fingers fly over the keyboard. 

> “Password”
> 
>  
> 
> ACCESS DENIED
> 
>  
> 
> “Guest”
> 
>  
> 
> ACCESS DENIED
> 
>  
> 
> “Admin”
> 
>  
> 
> ACCESS DENIED
> 
>  

Goddamnit. C’mon, Blake. Whoever set this up was smart enough to program security against basic commands, the password isn’t going to be any easier to guess. Was it someone on Dr. Li’s team? Did Dad reset it when he was here last? Hmm...

I enter some new commands, a non-invasive request for return of specific information rather than a proverbial battering ram. Last password change...four days ago. My heart skips. So he  _ was _ just here. Instead of miles, I’m only a few steps behind.

Shit. Focus. Obviously, there’s something in here he wants protected. He’s sentimental, but smart. The password will be something close to him, but not something easily uncovered like a birthday. Maybe...

I try different variations of the bible verse he loved. I don’t know my mother’s birthday, and with a pang of guilt, realize the date of her death is the same as  _ my _ birthday. I never really thought about that before... I enter the date, confident that has to be it. Still, I am refused entry. I try her name. Access Denied. Then, with the feeling that I’ve been a complete moron this entire time, I think of something that only he, in the entire wasteland would know: My name. 

Access Granted. 

The door unlocks with a heavy clunk. Inside isn’t much different than the rest, aside from the general layout. Machines, cables, tables, notes, the whole shabang, spread throughout the rotunda. I follow the half-circle platform around, then up a short flight of stairs to the main door. 

I stand at the entrance of the memorial, looking beyond the scientific hardware and up through the glass at a figure of someone we were told was a great man, distorted behind murky, radioactive water. I remember reading peppy, sugar-coated recounts in my assigned Vault 101 History of America book, and the...differences of the various volumes my dad kept under lock and key. Discrepancies, one could call them. Lies is what I call them. I stare, I walk, I ponder, and then I sigh and slump my shoulders. Just as I’m about to think there’s nothing here worthwhile at all, I spot another holotape. 

I do a third round through the control center, this time paying no attention to the man behind the glass, and instead scanning for holotapes. By the last lap, I’ve found a total of three more tapes.

The first is a nostalgic recounting of his nights sneaking through restricted areas, first alone and later with Jonas, looking only for whatever they could find. I start to tune out, waiting for a signal phrase like “I need to go to” or “[this place] should have”. I’m brought sharply back to attention when he, James, Mr.It’s-not-perfect-but-it’s-safe, my respect-the-overseer dad, confesses to getting  _ drunk _ and  _ breaking into  _ the  _ overseer’s office _ . I laugh so hard and so loud I miss the next several seconds, and have rewind it back to listen to it over again. Oh, he is not allowed to give me grief about anything  _ ever  _ again. 

Once my giggle-fit is over, I listen more closely to the rest of the tape; and it’s a good thing, too. He drops a name, Dr. Stanislaus Braun, and some relation to Vault-Tek that means very little to me. It’s not until the end that I get to hear the punchline; The Garden of Eden Creation Kit. 

A chill runs up my spine. If that’s anything like what it  _ sounds  _ like...shit. He might be onto something after all. Playing the next tape, clearly dad had the same thought process I just did; No way. No way this thing is real. Only, he says it is. Not only is it real, but  _ manufactured _ before the Great War ever occurred. I have to lean against a nearby railing for support. And then, there it is, the buzzword I’ve been waiting for; Vault 112. I let the rest of the tape play through for posterity's sake, but I’m sure down to my bones that’s where I need to head next. 

I watch the timer on the tape run down to seconds as dad’s voice plays over the surrounding running water. “If I could gain access to just a fraction of Braun's genius,” the timer hits zero, “Project Purity would become a reality.” Another shiver jolts up my back. I lift my gaze to the rotunda around me with a renewed appreciation. Clean, clear water for everyone. A Garden of Eden Creation Kit.  _ New life _ for the Wasteland. “God...”

My mind runs away with the possibilities, the what-if’s, the how’s and maybe’s before I remember there’s one more tape. “I’m off to Vault 112” is the first second of the recording. Well, at least now I know for sure that’s where I need to go next. West of someplace called Evergreen Mills, hidden in a garage.

“It's so close, but that's the story of Project Purity, isn't it? An eternity of "almost there's".” The recording plays, and I laugh humorlessly. No fuckin’ clue what that’s like. Must be rough. 

Vault 112, here I come. 

 

* * *

 

_ FUCK _ it’s hot out. 

Been about a week since I left the memorial. Headed straight back to Megaton, slept for pretty much two days straight. Hauled all the shit I looted from the mutants, DC, and the memorial over to Craterside, and barely offset the cost of all the ammo I ended up taking. I still ended up owing a few caps, but that was on account of buying actual, genuine armor. Or rather, a genuinely armored trench coat. The scrap metal slap-job held up, but only just. I’d rather bite the economic bullet than an actual one. 

Still didn’t see any sign of Jack. A tiny demonic voice in the back of my head keeps saying he’s avoiding me, but really, I’ve barely just got back, and he doesn’t even live there. Of course we wouldn’t see each other, even if I hadn’t severely humiliated myself and, in all likelihood, crippled his pride. 

Anyway. It’s late afternoonish, hot as balls, and I’m still looking for this fucking garage. I did manage to find Evergreen Mills. Turns out it was just, Raider Central. As it so happens, it also made the  _ perfect _ target range to get some solid practice in with my sniper rifle. And by ‘practice’, I mean getting so good at shooting the fuckin dirt  _ around _ them that they spent more time wondering if they were hallucinating than actually looking for a shooter. 

So, y’know. That sucked. All that ammo down the drain. I did eventually get one guy in the leg, and another in the neck, but that was pure luck. I understand the  _ theory _ of accounting for bullet drop and wind resistance for such long shots, but in practice? Forget it. Especially when they move around so much. I at least figured out what all the little tick marks on the scope mean, so that’s something. 

This is gonna be a much sharper learning curve than the revolver was. Either way, they all died eventually. I think a few of them correctly pinpointed my position, but I was high up enough that it didn’t matter. I was...mildly alarmed, we’ll say, to discover they had a fucking Behemoth captive in an electric cage. I toyed with the idea, and ensuing hilarity, of releasing the thing to wreak havoc on the mill. But, that also meant letting loose a fucking BEHEMOTH to go about its business, and I’d sooner eat the dried up mole rat brains off the repellent stick. 

With a groan, I push up from the small bit of shade offered by an outcropping of rocks. The sun is pretty low by now, which means I’m running out of time to spend wandering around in the endless fucking desert that is The Capital Wasteland. 

But hark! Passing over the peak of the hill reveals below, a glinting metal structure. A closer look through my scope confirms my hopes; two giant garage doors adorn the anterior, and I nearly fly down the rest of the hill. 

I can’t help but think of Moria as I near the garage. Piles of junk and scrap, nearly as large as the cars alongside them, surround the entire building. She’d have a fuckin field day out here. Maybe, depending on how this all goes, I’ll try to find something good to bring back to her. 

Inside, it’s - yep, a garage. A counter and ancient cash register wait by the door, a couple radroaches barely seem to notice my entry. In the actual workshop, I have to squint through the almost sheer blackness that fills the corners of the shop. I lean on the wall for guidance, smoothing my hand over as much as I can reach in search of any kind of light switch. Eventually, I find a breaker box and, not really expecting it to do any good, shift the lever up. Contrary to doing nothing, I nearly shit my pants when there’s a giant, floor-rattling CLUNK that opens a hidden passageway just inches away from my feet. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how many years of my life did I just lose? 

A creepy, dim lit stairway leads down to a creepy, worse-lit hallway. Nuh uh. I’ve seen that movie, I know how this ends. Or, at least - I draw my pistol and pull back the hammer - how it’ll end for whatever the fuck is down there. Turns out, it’s just a couple molerats. Shouldn’t have wasted the ammo on them, but I also really shouldn’t have screamed as loudly as I did when one came barrelling up the stairs.  And maybe I also shouldn’t have stomped in its head once it was sufficiently dead, but I gotta get my catharsis any way I can.

More creepy metal staircases leading further and further down, through one door after another until, with a sharp intake of breath, I come upon something entirely too familiar. A giant, cog-shaped door, buried into the rock around it, “Vault 112” painted right smack in the middle. Fuck. I know it’s not  _ my _ vault door, but still, I don’t breathe for a minute. Every part of my animal nature is writhing to bolt the other direction.  _ Run _ , it says,  _ Run! Remember what happened last time? Don’t you know? Remember what’s waiting for you on the other side? _ A faint sound of bullets whizzing by echoes in my ears.  _ Don’t do it. Go. Turn around. Run!! _

I roll my hand into a fist, taking a slow breath. Vault 112. This is where Dad said he was heading next, and that was only a few days ago. I have to. I have to see...

Pressing the yellow button next to the door triggers a deafening alarm that blares overhead, and immediately I drop to a crouch, revolver up, finger on the trigger, my entire body shaking.  _ Run! Run!  _ **_Run!!_ **

Is that gunfire? Is it real or in my head? My eyes dart all around and I keep seeing bodies, of people I knew and people I don’t, a raider with wide, terrified eyes. My arms and legs start shaking, my knees bend like a tensed spring, ready to make a mad dash back to the surface. Yelling, shouting, crying, death, so much death, Jonas...

I close my eyes, so much death, shaking my head. Not real not real not real...! But they’re still screaming and still shooting and I can hear people calling my name, but I can’t tell who wants to help me and who wants to kill me, and I start to cry and all I can do is scream, “ _ NO!! _ ” 

Silence. The metal door has stopped squealing, the rumbling has ceased. For a moment I wonder if I’ve just gone deaf. My entire body is shaking, I feel like I can barely breathe. I look around and see nothing but dirt and rocks. I slowly become aware of each deep, shaking breath I take, and everything is still silent. “Okay...” I whisper to myself with a huff. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

It takes all the strength in the world to will myself just to stand up and face the now open vault door. To inch forward, step by step. Barrel up. Finger on the trigger. Finally I’m past the giant cog. There’s only one door to go through. Only one hallway. One more staircase. I keep expecting to relax as I go along, once my brain realizes that we’re somewhere else that just  _ looks _ the same, but I don’t. I almost have to actively remember to not hold my breath.

Another hallway, another door. Movement catches my eye and I reaffirm my grip, raising the gun from the slack position it fell to. A Robobrain comes around the corner, speaking before I can determine where to best fire. 

“Welcome to Vault 112, Resident. You are: two-hundred and two point three years, late.” It says, and I blink. 

“Erm...sorry. Traffic was a bitch.” 

“Please. Proceed down the stairs to the main floor. So that. You may enter your. Assigned. Tranquility Lounger.” It’s speech is choppy, clearly out of repair.With no other lead, I do as instructed and delve further, further, further down. Through a door, to the left, down some more stairs. Walking out into what might have been the Atrium, I’m struck with an  _ overwhelming _ feeling of ‘I don’t fucking think so’. 

“Please. Enter. Your. Assigned. Tranquility. Lounger.” 

I walk around the center of the room, a circle of computer screens facing outwards to match up with the circle of pods that surrounds them. I check the first computer. 

> Occupant: Janet Rockwell
> 
> Temperature: 98.6
> 
> Pulse: 60 bpm
> 
> Respiratory rate: 14 rpm
> 
> Vitals assessment: WNL 

My eyes widen slightly. I had just assumed that this place was empty, or that anyone left would be dead. I turn to stare at the pod, a shadow of a person inside it. “They’re... _ alive _ ?” 

“Please. Enter. Your. Assigned. Tranquility. Lounger.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” I go to the next computer.

> Occupant: Bill Foster
> 
> Temperature: 98.6
> 
> Pulse: 60 bpm
> 
> Respiratory rate: 14 rpm
> 
> Vitals assessment: WNL 

And the next. And the next. And the next, each one almost exactly the same as the last, until finally; 

> Occupant: UNKNOWN
> 
> Temperature: 99.8
> 
> Pulse: 82 bpm
> 
> Respiratory rate: 14 bpm
> 
> Vitals assessment: ! STRESSED !

That’s  _ got _ to be him. Just as I think to start poking around the code to unlatch the pod, it I realize that these computers don’t have any keyboards. Just a screen displaying information. I dart to the pod and try to peek inside. It’s dark, but - my heart jumps - It’s him!

“Dad!” I pound on the glass, searching all over for any kind of latch, or lever, or seam or  _ anything _ . “Dad! Can you hear me? Dad!!” 

“Please. Enter. Your. Assigned. Tranquility. Lounger.” 

“Oh, fuck off! Dad!” From inside, he makes no movement, not a single twitch in response to my clamor and yelling. 

“Please. Enter. Your. Assigned. Tranquility. Lounger.” 

“Fuck!” I slam my fists into the glass, half hoping it shatters the whole thing, consequences be damned. My gaze wanders over the room until it falls onto an open, unoccupied pod. 

I guess there’s only one way of doin’ this.

 

* * *

 

The screen pulls away and it feels like I’m coming out of a coma. Groggy, disoriented, remembering how to use my limbs all over again. Chinese invasion isn’t  _ exactly _ what I was going for, but really, it’s better than just leaving them all...

The hatch hisses open, climate controlled air speeding through the cracks and into the rest of the vault. Before it’s even all the way open, I’m looking left and right for any sign or trace of - !! 

“Dad!” 

I don’t think my feet touch an inch of ground within a two-foot range of the pod as I leap over the side. He’s here, he’s really, finally,  _ actually _ here, walking towards me from across the room. “ _ Dad!! _ ” I run into his open arms, and he squeezes me so tight it forces out the sob I’d been trying to hold back. Everything, every moment of hope, disappointment, fear, anger, all of it spills out of me into his shoulder. He holds me close, shaking and humming soothing words. 

Neither of us let go for several minutes. I’m scared that if I do, he’ll vanish into thin air. What if this is a dream? What if it’s still part of the simulation? I can’t bear it. I hold him tighter, and finally he pulls away.

“Oh, my dear, it’s so...” His face falls, and it takes a split second to remember the horrific scar mangling half my face. I try to cover it with my hand but I’m too slow, and his gently cups my cheek. He touches it like hollow glass, delicate and unsure. “My god, Jordan...” Something in my gut twists, painful and nostalgic. I always hated being called by my first name.

My dear late mother had left only two things in her memory; the framed bible verse, and my name. I haven’t used it since...god, since my early teens, if that. Drawn from the tale of Jesus’ baptism, the name of the river Jordan holds such a reverence, such serenity that I always felt unsuited to it. That I never really deserved it.

Pretty early in my youth, I started going by our surname instead. Something tougher, more masculine that I felt was more appropriate. Jonas didn’t mind a bit, but dad fought me on it at first. Insisted on the importance of the name, what it meant to him - and more importantly, my mother. But over time, and with Jonas on my side, he eventually relented to calling me Blake in front of others, but kept using my given name at home, which was a fair compromise to me. 

“What...what happened to you?” He asks almost breathlessly.

“I - it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re  _ here _ , I finally found you!” I drop my head into his shoulder again, another wave of tears threatening to emerge.

“Yes, darling, I’m here. But why are  _ you _ ?”

“Wh -? For you! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” 

He stiffens. “I’m...I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His voice wavers. “I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

As quickly as it came on, my elation slides right into fury. I push him away, taking a whole step back. “You shouldn’t have fucking left then!” The emotion is different, but I still continue to cry. What a baby. “How  _ could _ you? How could you just...” Words and sobs tangle in my throat. “ _ Leave _ me, leave  _ us _ like that?! No warning, no - do you have ANY idea what - Amata...  _ Jonas! _ ” I cover my face and break down completely, unable to wrap the trauma in a concise set of words. 

He steps forward and gingerly takes me in his arms, and once again I feel like a child having a tantrum, angry that he wasn’t there after a nightmare. 

“You’re right. I know. I’m so sorry, my love. I just wanted you to be safe. That’s all I ever wanted, no matter what. I should have known better than to expect you to just do what you’re told.” He says wryly, attempting humor.

My insides feel like a knot of barbed wire. I want to laugh, but I can’t stop crying. I’m relieved beyond words to see him. He’s  _ alive _ ! But I’m furious that he left at all to begin with, without so much as a backwards glance. I want to just forgive him and be happy he’s okay, but I’m still angry and want him to understand what he’s put me through. I don’t know how to feel, how to process what I’m feeling, how to put it into words. It’s all so overwhelming.

Finally, I straighten up and try to compose myself. “It’s a good thing, too, or you’d be stuck with that lunatic forever.” I say defensively. You left me behind, but I’m the one who saved you. What does that tell you? 

“Now that, I can’t deny.” He looks at the pods around us. “If I’d known what to expect, I might’ve fared a bit better...” He turns back to me and his face softens. “Ah, it’s  _ so good _ to see you.” He brushes my cheek again, running his thumb over the bits of jagged flesh. “...I should have just taken you with me. I was trying to shelter you from this godforsaken war zone when I should have  _ protected _ you.” 

I smile softly. So he does get it, somewhat. “Well, now we can look out for each other.”

“Indeed we can. Speaking of which, I need to get back to Rivet City, as quickly as possible. Madison will want to - “

“ _ What _ ?” 

“Err, Dr. Li, I’ve learned something incredible about - “

“You’ve  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me.” 

He pauses, more surprised than angry that I just dropped the f-bomb on him. “Jordan, please -”

“That’s it? That’s  _ all _ I get? I trek all over hell and half of the wasteland to find you, sacrificed more than you even know and all I get is ‘good t’see ya, back to work’?!” The hollow room echoes back my shouts. 

“Oh honey, no, I’m - I’m  _ ecstatic _ to see you, believe me. You can’t know how much I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, can’t I?!” I yell. “When  _ you’re _ the one who left in the first place?!” 

“No, you can’t.” He says, suddenly somber. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, and I don’t...I don’t know that I could bear to do it again.” He takes my hand and, in continued childish fashion, I wrench it away from him. “But the work I’m doing, this project could change life as we know it in the Wasteland. Especially with what I know now. This goes beyond you and me, honey. It’s crucial I get this information to Madison as soon as possible.” 

I can’t pretend I don’t understand, or care, about the gravity of what he’s talking about. But I still don’t like it. It’s not like I really planned for anything beyond this point. I wasn’t even sure I’d succeed at all. What about Megaton? Can’t we just...pick up where we left off? Try to go back to how things used to be? 

“I want you to come with me.” He says when I don’t respond, finally breaking my attention away from the floor. “I think - I  _ know _ we could use your help. As smart as you are, with you on our team, there’s no way we’ll fail.” Tch. Flatterer. Smiling, he affectionately raps my chin with a curled finger and I can’t help but grin a little. 

“Of course I’ll go with you...I’m not letting you out of my sight. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into next.” He laughs. I missed that sound. He puts an arm around my shoulder, and we leave Vault 112 together. 

 

Night has fallen when we finally make it to the surface, so we camp out in the garage, building a fire inside an old, empty oil barrel. We settle in, and he asks to be filled in on what happened after he left the vault. It takes time to get through it all, but I tell him. I tell him all of it. Amata, the Overseer, the guards. Jonas. Jonas is the hardest. I cry. He covers his face with his hand. I pass him my flask. He doesn’t really react to his daughter carrying around a flask of whiskey. Just takes a good long drink from it. 

I sit in silence as I let him process it all. He watches the fire blankly. Intently. I watch him. Finally he comes around. Neither of us know how long it took. He asks about my scar next, but I don’t have the heart to go into all that right now. I tell him to sleep. He lays down, but I don’t know if he does. I stay awake nearly all night, terrified that he’ll disappear again as soon as I close my eyes. That I’ll wake up to alarms, gunfire, and panic. 

I fade out sometime in the early morning, and wake instead to his hand on my shoulder. “Jordan? Jordan, c’mon honey, time to get up.” I snap awake, groaning at the crick in my neck from sleeping against the wall.

“What time is it?” 

“A little before eleven.”

“Oh, shit.” I stand, stretch, yawn. 

“Seemed like you needed the rest. Here, breakfast.” He hands me a chunk of jerky. 

“I’ve got some. And water.” I snap out of nowhere.

“Of course you do. I know you can take care of yourself. I didn’t give you much choice, and you had to learn how.”

...Goddamnit. How does he always do that?!  _ I  _ didn’t even know why I’m still pissy and he’s already zeroed in on it. “You won’t get off the hook that easy.”

He chuckles. “No, I expect I won’t.” 

The further we get from the safety of the garage, the harder my heart pounds in my chest. I keep looking over my shoulder, left, right, up ahead, checking every direction every two seconds. I keep expecting a behemoth to crawl out from under a rock and crush him. Or a pack of wild dogs come running over the hill and overtake us. Or raiders with machine guns - Agh! 

I shake my head, tossing the thoughts from my mind and trying to keep myself calm. It’s okay. We’ll be alright. I’m here now, and I’ve gotten better with my shots. I eye the seemingly small pistol tucked in the back of his jeans. “Is that...the only weapon you have?” 

He turns around, looking surprised to see me there. He must have been deep in thought about something. Probably project purity. “What? Oh. The only one that’s any good, really. I’ve got a knife, too, for those sticky situations.” 

“Mm.” I try to hide my worry, but I’ve never been good at that. Always had my heart on my sleeve. 

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ve been out here a lot longer than you have. Remember, I didn’t grow up in a vault.” He smiles, but the implications make my stomach twist. I’d asked him so many times before about his life growing up in the vault, but, of course, all I ever got was vague, dismissive answers and a change in subject. 

“What was it like? Growing up out here.” He slows for a beat before answering. 

“It...wasn’t like life in the Vault. It was hard.” He starts, and I want to roll my eyes. Haven’t fuckin learned that yet. “Even in the more established settlements, there was the constant threat of attack, by raiders, or mutants, slavers...not to mention the daily struggle to maintain what we had, keeping crops alive in the rotten ground, maintaining equipment in the dry, dusty wind. Every day was hard work, a fight to survive.” 

None of what he says really surprises me. I’ve got half a mind to say to him, ‘yeah, I kind of figured’. Especially after seeing Big Town, Arefu...Megaton seems like a freakin’ sanctuary next to the open settlements. But then I stop to consider what it must have been like as a  _ child _ . I’m reminded of the little boy from Grayditch, who hid in a shelter while his family, his entire town was ravaged by giant mutated monsters. Only a little boy...

Then, glancing sideways at my father, I think about the other side of it. Of being the parent of a child, using your last few moments of life to stuff them into a panic shelter, hoping, praying to any god that might listen that they’ll survive. Knowing you won’t. Or, god, if you do, but your child...

I shake my head. I can’t imagine it. “I get it, y’know.” I finally say, and he looks back at me. “Why you went to the vault. I get it now. “ I watch as his eyes trace over the mangled half of my face. He turns back.

“Yes, well, I’m sorry you had to learn the hard -”

“I don’t regret it, though.” He looks at me again, so surprised he stops walking. I continue forward. “I understand. I probably would have done the same thing. But there’s something...isn’t it better to live freely? Fighting and surviving, instead of just...existing, doing nothing with your life but wait for death?” I stop and turn back to him, reading his face for some kind of response, whether he agrees with me or not. But even if his face won’t show it... “That’s why you left in the first place, isn’t it? You knew there  _ was _ more to life than that.” I feel like, deep down, I had always known, too. Or at least suspected. I had never been satisfied with life down there. Always wanted more. “I just wish you -” 

My heart leaps into my throat at the sound of gunfire. A few meters away, raiders charge from their hiding spot on the side of the road.  _ No _ , no no no, you’re not taking him! I’ve come too far to let it end here, like this. But before I can tell him to get down, he shoves me aside. 

“Stay behind me.” 

“Dad, let -”

“Be quiet.” He barks in an unusually harsh tone before addressing the approaching raiders, hands in the air. “Please, take whatever you want, but don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.” 

My eyes dart over the five other men and women, guns raised, and the terrain around them. Roll behind the rock, take out the first two, maybe three. Take cover to reload, draw them within range. But dad - what if he goes the wrong way, or doesn’t get down fast enough, or --

“You! Search him!” 

Fuck. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. One of them walks closer, the end of an smg pointed squarely at Dad. 

“Spread em.” I barely register what happens next. As soon as he’s in range, James swings his elbow right into the guys nose, James’ other hand shoving the barrel of the smg down and away, redirecting the fire into the concrete. The next thing I know, he’s using the raider as a fucking meat shield, my gun is out, dad’s already shooting the next closest raider as the rest of them scramble to pick a target. The ones aiming at Dad are mine. 

Two go down with a carefully placed .44 shell through the sides of their heads. The third is pelted through the stomach with the SMG, and the now-obsolete meat shield is shoved forward, given just enough time to turn around before another spray goes through his chest. Just as quickly as it all started, it’s all over.

“Nice aim, honey!” He says, beaming, and claps me on the shoulder like I just won the Little League Championship. It takes me a few seconds to respond.  

“Um...thanks?” I look around, too. “That was...ballsy. How did you know that would work?” 

He shrugs, nonchalant but a little prideful. “It’s all about knowing your enemy, and reading the situation.” And here I was, thinking I was so well versed in the ways of the wasteland, and made to feel like a fucking child,  _ again _ . But I also feel somewhat comforted, too. I’d been utterly convinced that our survival relied on me alone. Cause, y’know, the fact that he’s survived this long without me so far has  _ obviously _ been pure dumb luck. 

We walk. I tell him about my house in Megaton, and he asks, a little bewildered, how I got a  _ house _ . It feels like bragging to tell the whole story, so I just say I did the sheriff a favor. Which, technically, is true.

He asks about my eye again. I tell him I got ambushed by a yao guai, and was saved by a “bodyguard merc” I’d hired. Which, technically, is also true. I don’t really want to go into the whole Jack thing right now. Especially since there might not be more to tell at this point. So I just leave it there, vague and unassuming. I tell him about my leg, too, before it comes up as a surprise if I get tired of walking. This time, I tell him the whole story. It is totally bragging, but I’m goddamn proud of it. Yeah, so maybe it was also fucking stupid of me, but I’m proud nonetheless. 

He’s very quiet as he listens, clearly deeply bothered by it all. Maybe even guilty. Well, good. If you hadn’t left me behind, maybe it wouldn’t have happened. 

He gets a first-hand demo of the repellent stick when we’re surprised by a small pack of molerats, and we spend the next forty-five minutes discussing how to replicate the effect - to a lesser extreme - in some kind of spray or smoke grenade form, for settlement defense. 

I ask him more about Project Purity. How it got started, how they developed the technology, what methods they used. How he and mom met. How the project started to decline. What makes him think he can succeed this time. The GECK, he says, is wildly unstable and unreliable tech, but it’s a framework. A baseline to build something more sophisticated and precise, less complicated and more effective. He says it very well could be the missing piece they’ve been needing all along. 

After a long lunch break and the occasional spat with some wasteland something-or-other, we finally make it to Rivet City a little while after dark. Sweaty, grimy, dusty and tired, we bypass the clamor of the market and head straight for a hotel. We order a small meal and eat in relative silence, our topics of conversation as exhausted as we are. 

Once replenished enough to make it to the room, a mild second wind drifts through. “So...what happens now?” I ask, gently willing a brush through the windswept tangles of my hair. 

“I’ll speak with Doctor Li as soon as possible, let her know everything I’ve learned, and see how it fits into everything.”

I don’t reply right away. It  _ still  _ doesn’t sit right in my gut, almost like jealousy. Or maybe exactly like jealousy. After everything I’ve been through to find him, after everything he  _ put me  _ through, and  _ still _ all he cares about is this stupid science project. Doesn’t it matter...don’t  _ I _ matter? Would it have mattered to him at all if I hadn’t come? It could’ve been anyone that rescued him from that crackpot, and it’d have played out the exact same way. 

I slowly, absentmindedly continue to glide the brush through my hair, which hangs like a curtain over my face, hiding the emotion that always shows too well. Is this what we left the vault for? What I’ve cried, fought, bled for? To be given the same gratitude and attention as any random wastelander who might have wandered in. To be brushed aside,  _ dismissed _ ...

A hand presses on my shoulder, and I jump, dropping the brush as my hand reaches for where my gun usually is. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says, bending down to get the brush. I’m able to play off the reach for my weapon as the same. 

“That’s alright.” I attempt to say cheerfully, but my tone betrays my balefulness. He runs a finger along my temple, sweeping up the free locks of hair and tucking them neatly behind my ear. I keep my gaze low, turned away. I don’t want to fight again, I don’t want him to know I’m upset. I don’t  _ want _ to be upset. Why am I so angry...?

He smooths the hair on top of my head. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, and a lump forms in my throat. I bite the inside of my lip in hopes of preventing a quiver, to no avail. “You’ve come so far, overcame...so much.” His fingers brush over the tips of the scars on my forehead. “You’ve taken such an unspectacular situation and done some remarkable things with it. That’s really something.” More silence. His hand slows it’s rhythmic pace. “You were right before.” His tone is more solemn. “About why I left. I knew there was more, but beyond that, I knew I could make it  _ better _ . That’s why I had to leave. Don’t you see?”

I fight for a moment to control my nerves, refusing to let my voice shake. “I told you, I get it. You wanted more. You knew there was more. I just - why do I feel like I’m not a part of it?” Dammit. My voice cracks. 

“But you  _ are _ , my love. I wanted to keep you safe, but now that you’re here, I think - I  _ want _ you to help me. I want you to be a part of it, to join me in changing things for this world. And then, once that’s done, we can pick up where we left off. A new life, together.” 

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against him, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding on as tightly as I did as a child. His arms curl around my shoulders, and he holds on just as tight. 

 

The next morning, we eat breakfast together. He brings me coffee with milk, and we sit, eat, and talk. We walk to the lab, chatting amiably, like everything is normal. And it almost feels like it is. When we get there, he finds Doctor Li and the two of them talk in private. I get a surge of anger, of what feels like...fear. Fear that, despite everything, I’ll be left behind again.

A little while later, they return, still deep in conversation. But he looks up, scanning until he sees me, smiles, and returns his attention to the doctor. On some level, part of me is glad - no,  _ relieved _ to know he worries, too. I can live with this. This new ‘normal’. If I never see my house in Megaton again, fine. What’s one more sacrifice on a list of so many?

It’s not long until I’m put to work. I’ve always considered myself fairly intelligent, but gobs of this stuff just goes right over my head. There’s only so much that I can do, and the most of it surmounts to basic grunt work. Mixing beakers, prepping slides, maintaining equipment, even fetching coffee and food. I guess this wouldn’t be so much of a ‘new’ normal afterall. Everything is almost like it used to be. Like it should be.

What feels like only days pass, but turns out to be more like a week. Like before, many nights were spent out of the room, wide awake, pouring over details and equations. Only this time, instead of waiting for him to come home, or hoping to catch him for dinner, I’m up  _ with  _ him. We eat together. We take turns making coffee. He hands me pieces to work on beside him. 

“Wake up, honey! Wake up!” 

“ _ Sbuh _ ?” I snort awake, flinging papers across the desk I’d fallen asleep on. Dad is standing beside me, beaming as brightly as the rising sun. “Shit. Sorry. How long have I -?”

“Don’t worry about that, now. I think we’ve finally got calculations and algorithms down. It’s only on a small scale, and we’ll need the equipment at the site to really test it, but it’s further than we’ve gotten in twenty years. We’re almost there!” He looks like a kid on Christmas morning, excited and anticipating, waiting for me to jump up and share in the enthusiasm. I think he’s forgotten that I only just got involved a few days ago. “It’ll take a little while to get everything packed and ready for transport, but once that’s done we should leave right away.” 

A feeling rises in my spine, slithering all the way to the base of my neck. It raises the hairs, a fight or flight response, and clearly signals;  _ fight _ . I nearly got creamed by the mutants that were there last time. If there’s going to be more...

“That should give me some time...” I mutter to myself subconsciously, unaware at first it had been out loud. My eyes, having averted as I pondered, find my dad again. He looks concerned. “It’s going to be dangerous. It’s bad enough going with just one person, but a conglomeration of flask-monkeys with delicate,  _ expensive _ equipment - we’re going to be a major target. How long did you say it will take? To get everything ready to move?”

“A few days at least.” He says, the previous elation completely drained from his voice. Sorry, Dad. 

“Mm...I think that will work. I need - “ I glance around at the surrounding people within ear shot, and pull dad a little further from the crowd. I’m silent for a few seconds while I pick my words. “I didn’t know if I was even gonna  _ find _ you, much less what would happen after that. I’m tapped out of most of my supplies, I didn’t bring enough extra ammo...I need to go back to Megaton. Restock, repair, get properly equipped to keep going.”

“Jor - ah, Blake, I don’t...I can’t...” 

“I know.” I say, catching him by surprise. “You can’t leave. You need to be here to look over everything, make sure it’s done properly. I know. I remember.” I intend it to be humorous, and it is to an extent, but there’s also a tinge of mourning with it even I hadn’t expected. “I’m not asking you to go with me. I just...wait for me. That’s all I’m asking. Give me just a few days to get what I need, and come back. Don’t...” My eyes dart away, embarrassed at first, but maintain contact to emphasize my point. “Don’t leave without me.” ‘ _ Not again _ ’ lingers, unsaid, in the air between us.

He considers the request, considers me, appears to almost be looking  _ through _ me at one point, but finally nods with a smile. “Of course. Try to hurry. We can’t put this off forever.” 

“I know. I won’t.”

We look at each other. This is the moment. It’s early enough in the day that I can still make good distance before nightfall. There’s nothing else they need me for here. I haven’t exactly settled in, so I’m ready to leave at a moments notice. This is where we say - no. Not goodbye. 

“See you when I get back.” I say, pointedly. 

“Alright. See you then.” He replies.

However, not willing to repeat the same mistake twice, we hug each other one more time before I depart. 

 

* * *

 

Either Megaton isn’t as far as I thought, or I’m in better shape than I used to be. The sun is still barely setting when I finally cross the gates, the odd, ethereal glow of twilight painting the chrome city in a quiet, dream-like haze. Already I can feel myself relaxing.

It’s good to be home. 

I cross over my threshold, once again finding solace in my own little carved out corner of the world. Allowing myself the indulgence of a long, steaming hot shower, I watch the residue of travel disappear down the drain. I fully intended to get a head start on getting everything together, but the hot water cooked me like a noodle. Now I just feel limp and useless. So instead, I rummage in the fridge for a beer, switch on the radio and flop onto the couch. 

Again, I fully  _ intend _ to just drink my beer, then go upstairs to sleep in the bed properly. Instead I wake to an agonizing crook in my neck, and a stain of dried beer spread over the floor. Damn. What a waste. 

No amount of stretching, rolling, bending or twisting does any good to relieve the tension throughout my entire upper body. The damage is done. Oh well, won’t be the worst pain I’ve ever had to work through. After a slow brewed, hastily downed cup of coffee, I pile up all the boxes of ammo I have, which isn’t much. I sharpen my knives, clean my guns, and make any necessary repairs. Then, I prepare individual medicine pacs; one for bullet wounds or minor lacerations, one for trauma, one for absolute emergencies, and one more for general wasteland encounters. 

I use spare materials to patch up any holes or tears in my clothing and reinforce any compromised bits of armor. Once I’ve dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s, I make ready to head back to Rivet City. But the thought of making the trek  _ again _ , only a day after having gotten home...it feels like my chest wrends in two. Of course I want to get back to dad, as quickly as possible, but...

I’ve put off admitting it until now, but here, alone...I’m so fucking tired. I’m just  _ exhausted _ . My leg hasn’t stopped hurting since we left the  _ Vault _ . I can finally stop searching, stop worrying, wondering. Aren’t I allowed a moment of reprieve? To catch my breath - hell, to even breathe a sigh of relief in the first place? I feel like, since the second my feet hit the floor that morning in Vault 101 those few months ago, I’ve been running non-stop, going, coming, to, from, back and forth. But I did it. I found him. I found him and he’s safe, and he’s staying there until I get back. Surely,  _ surely _ this is something I’m owed. A brief moment to relish in the calm.

I drop my bag back on the tabletop. Just a day or two, to rest and recharge. I’m positive that, despite his fervor, Dad could certainly use it, too. 

It’s barely early evening, so on a whim I opt to walk to the nearest butcher, and treat myself to an expensive cut of steak. I don’t have much to cook with, but even just a little salt and pepper can take a simple meal up a notch. 

After I eat, I float aimlessly around the house, looking for menial things to occupy my hands while my mind cranks to conjure up a proper excuse to stop at The Brass Lantern. Got alcohol here.  _ Should _ save as many caps as I can. Leo ain’t exactly known for conversation. Eventually I’m forced to just concede to the truth; I’m hoping I’ll run into Jack. Fuck it. What have I got to lose?  

As predicted, he’s nowhere to be seen. I know better than to hope he’ll show up eventually, but part of me does so anyway. Stranger things have happened. It’s got to be a mark of something that, after two and a half glasses of whiskey, I only feel a slight buzz. A mark of... how long I’ve been out here? How well I’ve adjusted? How tough I’ve become? How much I’ve used alcohol as a crutch to avoid facing and dealing with my continuously mounting trauma? 

...Hard to be sure. Either way, it’s a mark. After a few drinks, I head back home. Spend the next day doing as little as possible, and go back to the Brass Lantern again the next night.

I think I’m about four in by now? Can’t remember. “Leo,” I ask when he comes over, sighing deeply and swirling the glass between my fingertips. “Y’sheen Jack ar’nd lately?” Somewhere in the fog of my mind, Sober-Me is screaming.

“Sure, came through a few days ago. Just got off a job, was headin’ back to Arefu.” I nod. Of course he was. “Thanks.” I guess that’s better than the opposite. Isn’t it nice when people are in places they can be found? 

The next afternoon, once I’m awake, I’m completely packed and ready for the road. Instead of turning south east out of Megaton, I make a 180 and start walking north west, towards Arefu. It’s a long shot, no doubt about that, but even if it’s a fruitless effort, I can just head straight to Rivet City from there.

It’s about a five hour walk, uninterrupted. And any interruptions I come across are, anymore, easily taken care of. And yet, in all that time of ample solitude, I still have no fucking clue what I’m going to say to Jack. The short of it? I need your help, come with me. Somewhere in the bottom of my heart, I like to think that’d be enough. That after everything we’ve been through, after everything he  _ got _ me through, that’s all I would need to say.

But, after everything I’ve  _ put _ him through...no, he deserves more than that. Deserves a chance, a real chance to say no, not be swayed by my naivety or constant fucking inclination towards death. 

Suddenly, I find myself approaching his door. I’d said something in greeting to Evan, hadn’t I? I think I did. Can’t remember what for the life of me though. I raise my fist. My heart is pounding in my throat. Still don’t have a fuckin clue what to say to him. Fighting down the agonizing memories of when we last saw each other, I rap on the door. When he doesn’t answer in the first .5 seconds, I want to consider it a solid effort and haul ass the other direction. But the click of the deadbolt unlocking tears through me like a solid bullet.

Then the door opens, and he’s standing there, and I’m standing here, him temporarily stunned silent, and myself too nervous to even pronounce my own name right. 

“Blake...?” He blinks. Yeah, that’s it. I still don’t say anything. “Uh...what...?” Fuck, fuck, this was a mistake, fuck, I’m such a fucking idiot, I shouldn’t have come here, I’m about to say something stupid, I should have just - “Is everything okay? Are you alright?” 

Another hit goes through me, but different than before. Not harsh and sharp like a bullet. Heavy, but gentle, like a heartbeat. And just like that...I can breathe again. All the worry, fear, trepidation, anxiety, all of it blows away like dust in a breeze. I was so worried he’d be mad at me, or want nothing to do with me, so afraid of how he’d react when I suddenly show up out of nowhere. 

Not only that, but his first inclination is to ask about my well-being. Granted, I’m pretty sure that about 95% of the time we spend around each other, I almost fucking die. Still, it helps calm me down until finally, I can speak. “Y-yeah, I - well...a lot has happened, actually, and I - ah, before I get ahead of myself, I should probably - um, well...” Nope, nevermind, I’m still shit at this. I sigh, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palm. “...Can I buy you a drink? I need a drink.” 

He hovers in his doorway, apparently still reeling from the sudden, confusing nature of the whole situation. “Erm...y-yeah, sure.” He slips outside, locking the door behind him. I wish I knew what’s going through his mind... “This way.” 

We walk in silence, but it’s different than before. Before, there didn’t  _ need _ to be conversation. How many times had we just sat and drank with each other, perfectly content? But now it’s...the tension is palpable. It’s like each of us keeps trying to say something, but then we both stop so the other can go, only we still don’t say anything, so then we both start talking at the same time again, except  _ neither _ of us starts at all, ‘cause we can feel that the other wants to say something, too and we’re waiting for one of us to have enough courage to go first.

Or maybe that’s just me. 

The bar is only a short walk away, but it feels like half an hour has passed by the time we finally get there. It’s still relatively early in the evening, so it’s pretty empty as well. Completely different from The Brass Lantern, it looks more like someone’s house that everyone comes over to for a drink. But it says ‘bar’ over the door, and there’s a stockpile of liquor and plenty of seating. 

Most of the which is in low chairs around square tables, but thankfully, a handful of stools are also available at the bar. For some psychobabble reason, I’m sure, it’s easier for me to talk to people when I don’t have to face them directly. 

We sit. We drink. Slowly, some of the familiarity leaks back into the scenario, allowing us both to relax somewhat. 

“So...” he finally says, jump starting my heart and brain.

“Yeah, so...” I take a drink. “Well, to start with, I guess...I finally found my dad.”

“You did?” His tone stays neutral, probably from not knowing the condition in which I found him.

“Yeah, he’s - he’s fine.” I can’t help from smiling as I say it. “He’s safe now, in Rivet City.” 

“Oh. Good. That’s great, Blake.” There’s a forced pleasantry to his voice. Is he upset with me after all? 

“Yeah, thanks. Um, so...I don’t want to bore you with the details, but the short version is, he’s working on some massive science project thing and - he’s waiting for me to get back, so we can move to a new location and pick up this old project he’d been working on since before I was born -” Agh, getting too complicated. I wave my hand dismissively, like I’m fucking up a sales pitch. 

Finally I look at him, and see him watching me...this is so  _ stupid _ . Regardless of what happened, and whether or not he agrees with me, I think of him as a friend. I should be able to talk to him as one. 

“Okay, let me start over. I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry for leading you on and pulling the plug like that.” 

He tenses up, leaning back and turning away, all but actually  _ running _ away from the conversation. “Don’t - Blake, it’s fine, okay, you don’t - “

“No,” I cut him off. “It was fucked up and I am sorry. But that’s not why I’m here.” He doesn’t reply or return his gaze, but he doesn’t leave, either. “My dad has been working on some massive project for decades, and he’s made this breakthrough. He thinks with this new information he’s found, he can really start making progress. And it’s going to be dangerous.” His head turns a little towards me. “And we need help, we... _ I  _ want...someone I trust. I want...I was hoping you would...come with me.” 

Finally he looks at me again. “This isn’t a job.” I continue. “You don’t have to go. You don’t owe me anything, and I couldn’t pay you enough to properly compensate for what an out of the way, pain in the ass this is going to be.” I have to take a breath, to fill my lungs with enough air to carry the weight of what I have to say. “I’m just here as...as a friend.” That’s it. That’s all I got. I have to ignore the way my core is shaking, ignore the urge to tell him just how fucking scared I am.

I’m utterly fucking terrified. I’ve gotten farther than I ever even dreamed I would. I don’t know what’s coming next, or what’s going to happen, and I can’t face it alone. Out of everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve survived, I don’t think I have the strength to. 

From the subtle movements his head makes, I can tell from my peripheral that he’s looking me over, looking away, taking in and processing everything I’ve said, everything that’s happened, everything that  _ may _ happen.

...What the fuck am I thinking? Who the hell do I think I am, that I can just show up and ask him to just drop  _ everything _ to, what, hold my hand? I huff an airy, humorless chuckle, impressed at even my own audacity. 

“Ah, y’know...nevermind.” I genuinely laugh, shaking my head. “I didn’t really...hear how it sounded until I said it outloud.” I slam the last of my drink and set some caps on the counter, enough to cover for another drink or two, if he wants it. “Forget I asked. I’ll see y’around, maybe.” I try to play it cool, despite feeling so childishly foolish. I just want to get out of his sight before I embarrass myself any further. 

His voice reaches me when I’m just a few paces from the door. “Alright.” I stop. Did I hear him right? Did I just imagine that? “Alright. I’ll go.” He says again, and I slowly turn back to him in disbelief. “But you’re gonna owe me  _ a lot _ of alcohol.” 

“...R...Really?” Is all I can say. Who would? Who, in this decrepit, godforsaken hellscape, would agree to something like this, much less with so little thought? 

He picks up his glass, staring into it like it shows the image of a loved one. “The truth is,” he throws it back and sets the glass down again, still staring after it. “After being out with  _ you _ , caravan work is fucking  _ boring _ .” He fights a grin, turning to catch my eye. A smile plays at the corners of my mouth, but I’m still in too much shock to really react properly. “It’s too late to set out now. You should stay here for the night. Sounds like this is gonna be a bit of an endeavor, and I need some time to get things in order.” 

“Uh. Y-yeah.” 

“They got rooms here, they ain’t Tenpenny but they’re decent, cheap.”

“Okay.” I don’t even have the brainpower to realize I should wonder what the fuck a Tenpenny is.

“Well...see y’tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah...” Even after he leaves, I just keep standing and staring at where he used to be. I feel so...small. I hadn’t actually expected him to agree. Now that it’s happened, I don't really know  _ what  _ I expected to happen. I think, really, I just wanted an opportunity to clear the air, one more chance to speak my peace, since I don’t know how soon I’ll be back this way. The excursion, the request for company was just a gimmick, a lie I told myself to cover the true intent. Or maybe that itself is the lie. I don’t even know which way is up right now. He agreed. With no promise of payment or reward, or literally any reason at  _ all _ to go along, he agreed. 

Something...something unknown spreads through my chest, like alien tendrils slowly curling around every structure, filling every space. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know if I like it. But I do know, I need another drink. 


End file.
